


True Love's Something

by Lady_Of_Paper_7



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Affection, Alternate Ending, Alternate Ending Season 3, Anchors, Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Elias Bouchard Being a Bastard, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-The Unknowing (The Magnus Archives), Requited Love, Rescue, Tenderness, The Buried Fear Domain (The Magnus Archives), The Buried Fear Entity (The Magnus Archives), True Love, True Love's Kiss, alternate course of events for season 4, canon-typical supernatural elements, jmart, jonmartim - Freeform, jonmartin, open communication, positive entities, relationships and characters to be added, soft, spoilers for season 1 through 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:07:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 58,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28458033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Of_Paper_7/pseuds/Lady_Of_Paper_7
Summary: “I really, really am going to miss this – even talking to you like this. Just, just holding onto that bit of hope that you’re not-“, Martin cuts himself off then, because Jon is as much not dead as he is awake and moving about, “it’s nice to just pretend for a bit, I guess”Jon’s skin is cool and dry where Martin’s fingers brush against it and Martin squeezes his eyes shut as he lowers his hand.“It’s probably for the best if I don’t come here again anyway. Time I stop lying to myself and secretly wait for you to just wake up because you hear my voice. God knows, I’m the last person you’d wake up for anyway”He doesn’t quite manage to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but then again, Jon probably can’t really hear him anyway so why bother? – And now he’s imagining, he can hear Jon’s breath. He really has to get out of here and just let go. For once in his life.---Allegedly, there are no positive powers at work in the universe.Allegedly, the archivist wakes up from his coma after six months and proceeds to trudge through season 4 miserable and alone.Allegedly, there won't be a happy ending.Allegedly.
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 97
Kudos: 206





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own either characters, people or backstories. The only thing that I did was come up with semi-creative plots and ideas to put (already established and beloved) characters in and write them down, most of the time to come up with happy endings.
> 
> Updates:  
> \- Every Thursday, shortly after the latest podcast episode has dropped.  
> \- On most Sundays

_Once upon a time there had been a man whose fate had led him down the path of monstrosity and despair. He had lost friends on his way to face monster after monster, hope and more of himself than he would have thought possible until, at last, he had stumbled – and now deathlike sleep had claimed him. Far removed from everyone and everything around him, he lay in an empty grey room, neither moving nor breathing while around his still form life went on, scarcely looking back at him._

_At first, visitors, friends had crowded around his bed, begging and pleading him to wake up, to show any sign of life but as time went by, they had to leave him behind, had to go on without him, and accept his loss in all but name. All of them except one other lonely man, as sorrow stricken as the rest of them, but too in love to care about the life he was wasting by hanging onto the sleeper, too desperate for just the thinnest sliver of hope to give up._

And so, weeks, more than a month after the Unknowing, still not a single day goes by without Martin K. Blackwood making his way through the busy hospital-hallways to a tiny, dimly lit sickroom at some point. The room itself is almost completely empty and the door closes with a soft click behind Martin. These days, he doesn’t announce his presence to the nurses anymore; they know him, and the others and they rarely check in on the strange, still man in that sickroom anyway. It’s not like they can do anything for him, not like anyone understands how he can be still… alive? If that’s what you want to call a completely still, grey body.

Martin has yet to fail to show up at least once a day. Sometimes he stops by on his way to work, or back home, sometimes both and at this point usually spends most of his weekend in that tiny, sterile room, reading to Jon, or talking or just sitting in a horribly uncomfortable plastic chair next to his bed and starring off into space, but he does visit every day. Even on the day of the funeral, although it’s not like his mother had wanted him there – and crying next to Jonathan Sims’ bed at least had held some comfort in the sheer familiarity. 

These days, Martin spends more and more of his free time at the hospital. Sometimes it’s the only thing he has to look forward to all day which would be saying something if he weren’t working at the Magnus Institute. At first, the blessed absence of Elias, and the fact, that he, Martin Blackwood himself, had gotten rid of him and was the reason his former boss was confined to a tiny prison cell had helped. The others had even smiled on their first day without Elias but before long, their work had taken care of their abundant joy and dragged them right back down.

Then Peter Lukas had appeared and taken over for Elias, and, while working underneath him was not stranger than working for their former employer, or rather being held hostage by him, it was still strange enough. They never got to see him after all. Well, no one had gotten to see him until recently, when he’d head Martin off on his way home– to the hospital – and asked him to follow him into his office.

Honestly, at that point, Martin had been ready for anything. He’d half expected to be stricken, attacked, killed or worse before he’d even closed the door behind himself and sat down opposite from his new boss, but nothing like that had happened. Instead, he had been offered a promotion; to work directly for Peter Lukas – and to keep everyone safe, maybe even save the whole world in the process. At any other point of Martin’s life, he would have burst into laughter right there and then and left, but at the point he had been at, he had listened to what Peter had had to say, had asked for a little time for consideration and left. He had had a lot to tell Jon that evening.

Peter had given him a week to consider it, and tomorrow, Martin would have to return to his chilly, minimalist office and tell him yes or no – And he couldn’t say _no_ , now could he? Not really. Offers that included the phrase ‘keep everyone safe’ weren’t really something you could turn down.

“Oh, Jon what am I going to _do_?”, Martin now sighs, face buried in the palms of his hands, fingers pressing into his brow and cheeks.

After a moment or two, he lowers his hands and tips his head back, face empty and exhausted; “You know, I’m not sure, whether I’d asked you that if you were… you know. If I even knew for sure, you could hear me. Well, you probably wouldn’t really care- I’m sorry. It’s been a long- it’s been a long couple of months now and you’re, you’re really the only one I can talk to”

With Basira and Melanie on edge all the time and Daisy and Tim-

“ _I just_ _miss you_ ”, Martin now whispers, hands gripping the dull edges of his chair, fighting the urge to reach out towards Jon, “I, oh hell, I’ll probably be forbidden from visiting you, after tomorrow with working for the lonely and all… maybe that’s for the better anyway. Probably not healthy to spend all my time with you while you’re… not that that’s your fault or anything! I just…”

Martin’s fingernails dig into the hard plastic, probably leave impressions in it as he forces himself to properly look at Jon, at his still, unmoving face. All greyish pale skin, and scars and still so, so beautiful, Martin’s mouth goes dry as he keeps looking. At least the lines on Jon’s face are gone like this; his expression is not exactly peaceful, but at least it’s blank. Martin can almost make himself believe that he’s not in pain right now, maybe even comfortable. Heaven knows, he’d deserve it.

“I just had to come here one last time, okay? Just, just had to tell you”, Martin’s voice cracks and dies halfway through his sentence and he has to clear his throat before he can start it over, “Just, just had to tell you that I really, really love you. Loved you, probably with you… but no, actually. Nothing changed in here”, the laugh sounds stupid in Martin’s own ear as he places one hand over his heart, “probably should have told you before… but oh well, we all know what a coward I am when it comes right down to it, don’t we? Not like you and the others. Kind of glad, I didn’t get to see your reaction to that, although I’m sure, you would have been just as awkward about it as me and-”

Martin cut’s himself off and sits up with a start. Did Jon’s hand just- no, it’s probably just a trick of the light. His gaze drifts from Jon’s still form towards the tiny window, and he bites back a curse when he sees, how red the sky’s already getting.

“Shit, shit I’m sorry, I’ll have to leave. I just wanted- I wanted to properly say goodbye to you – not that there’s a real point to that”

Martin gets to his feet then, sneakers squeaking against the polished linoleum floor as he makes his way over to the bed. It feels almost sacrilegious to sit down on the edge of the hospital bed even if it’s just for a moment, but there’s plenty of room to spare, and he wants to really look at his former boss? – his friend, Martin is pretty sure he can get away with thinking about Jon as someone he’s on friendly terms with – one last time. Jon has always been petite and now, asleep or dead or whatever, he looks even frailer, almost gets lost in the white linens.

Martin’s hand only trembles a little, when he reaches out towards Jon, and brushes his hair behind his ear. It’s so long now, reaches past his shoulders and it’s just as soft as Martin had imagined.

“I really, really am going to miss this – even talking to you like this. Just, just holding onto that bit of hope that you’re not-“, Martin cuts himself off then, because Jon is as much not dead as he is awake and moving about, “it’s nice to just pretend for a bit, I guess”

Jon’s skin is cool and dry where Martin’s fingers brush against it and Martin squeezes his eyes shut as he lowers his hand.

“It’s probably for the best if I don’t come here again anyway. Time, I stop lying to myself and secretly wait for you to just wake up because you hear my voice. God knows, I’m the last person you’d wake up for anyway”

He doesn’t quite manage to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but then again, Jon probably can’t really hear him anyway so, why bother? – And now he’s imagining, he can hear Jon’s breath. He really has to get out of here and just let go. For once in his life.

“So…”, Martin trails off awkwardly, one foot already asleep from the strange angle he’s holding his legs to not make the mattress dip too much towards him, “guess this is it now, isn’t it? At least I get to say goodbye to you. Like really say goodbye, not like before the- so, goodbye, Jonathan Sims”, he whispers, voice choked despite himself.

And before Martin can talk himself out of it, he bends over Jon and brushes his lips against his forehead. His lips are dry as always, probably chapped from where he’s been gnawing at them, but this is already so, so selfish and wrong that a set soft, pleasant lips wouldn’t make it right either.

“I’m sorry”, Martin whispers, as he pulls back, and looks down at Jon’s face again, “I- goodbye. I really- well you know”

Really, he should have said that last part when he’d already been closing the door behind himself. Now Martin is awkwardly getting up and walking towards the door, trying to ignore the squeak of his rubber soles against the floor which really isn’t fitting for a goodbye.

In fact, Martin is concentrating so much on trying to walk quietly and not stumble over his pins and needles feet, that he doesn’t hear the rustle behind him. Only when he can’t help himself and turns around one last time when he’s reached the door, does he notice, that he _is_ hearing Jon’s breathing.

“You’re kidding me”

Martin’s hand slips off the door handle when he turns back and advances on the bed again. As he gets closer, he can make out the uneven rise and fall of Jon’s chest, can see his face screw up.

“ _Jon_ ”, he whispers, reaching out towards Jon when he whimpers softly, eyes still closed as his head moves from side to side, “hi, hey, I’m here, it’s okay”, Martin tells him, one hand on Jon’s shoulder now, the other one cupping his cool cheek, “I’m here, I’m right here with you”

The voice in Martin’s head hasn’t quite enough time to finish its scalding remark on how Martin’s presence isn’t exactly top of the list of things that would give Jon comfort when Jon gasps, and his eyes flutter open.


	2. II.

Jonathan Sims has about the prettiest eyes Martin has ever seen; a dark shade of green with golden flecks scattered around the iris, the left eye just a tiny bit lighter than the right- which is not a helpful thought when those eyes squint up at him in the sickly neon-light, pupils blown wide and almost eclipsing the colour around them as Jon struggles to sit up.

“H-Hey”, Martin says intelligently, hands frozen in place when Jon’s eyes fix on him, “hey, Jon, it’s-“

“Martin?”, the question is half lost in the breath Jon sucks in, chest still heaving, “ _Martin_ ”, he whispers, eyes wide, voice hoarse and tired, tripping between the syllables.

“Yeah, it’s me”, Martin tells him helplessly, then adds a shaky, “hi” for good measure.

Martin is dimly aware that he’s still cupping his boss’ face - the man’s face whom he’d been hopelessly in love with since their very first, very awkward meeting - but he can’t bring himself to let go. Not when Jon’s chest is still heaving with every gulp of air and his eyes are wide and full of fear and confusion. Martin isn’t that much better off. He can feel Jon’s bones shift beneath the thin hospital gown, beneath his too cool skin when he tries to even his breathing, forces himself to take another, slower breath, and exhale.

“Hi”, Jon whispers, and Martin is so distracted by the weak smile Jon manages that he only registers Jon is still trying to push himself into a sitting position when he feels him move against the hand he still has placed over Jon’s shoulder.

He lets go at once.

“Don’t- take it easy, Jon” 

Martin’s voice comes out helpless even to his own ears, and it doesn’t help when Jon laughs weakly, then starts coughing, face screwing up and fingers scrabbling at the washed-out sheets.

“Wait- here”

Martin slips one hand behind Jon’s back and carefully places the other one against the mattress next to Jon’s thigh as he helps him sit up.

“It’s okay. It’ll be over soon, okay?”, Martin tries to sooth him as he rubs Jon’s back.

“Thanks”

Jon’s voice comes out even rougher this time and he remains hunched over, arms stiffly braced against his thighs, knees slightly bent. Just listening to him makes Martin’s own throat hurt.

“Do you- do you need anything?”, Martin asks, just to fill the silence between each heavy breath, “Water maybe?”

“I- yes, please”, Jon rasps, eyes fluttering closed, “Martin-“

“Yes?”, Martin asks, when Jon doesn’t go on.

“Before I-”, he’s cut off by another dry cough, raking his whole body while Martin continues rubbing his back until it stops. His other hand comes to a rest on Jon’s when he notices him clutching onto the washed-out sheets and he turns his hand and squeezes Martin’s fingers.

“Fuck”, Jon winces, blinking away tears as he clears his throat, “sorry”

“It’s alright, Jon. Just try to breathe, okay?”

Martin brushes his thumb against Jon’s knuckles, the hand on his back slowly moving up and down between his sharp shoulder blades.

There are a couple of bottles on the nightstand next to the hospital bed, water and juice and a stack of disposable plastic cups. Jon’s grip around Martin’s hand tightens when he makes to pull it back.

“ _Don’t let go_ ”, Jon whispers, squeezing his eyes shut tighter, “ _please_ ”

“Of course not”

Instead, Martin properly links their fingers as he reaches for a bottle with his free hand.

“I can-“, Jon starts when Martin lifts the cup to his lips a moment later.

“Jon”

“Thank you”, Jon sighs, tipping back his head and taking a careful sip.

“Slowly”, Martin tells him almost managing to smile when Jon glares at him, fingers still clutching onto Martin’s, “come on, tell me I’m wrong”

“Thanks”, Jon repeats when he’s done.

“How”, Martin starts, then thinks better of it and closes his mouth again.

“Hm?”

“I just, I’m sorry this is stupid, but how are you feeling?”

“Tired”, Jon says after a moment of consideration, “everything…kind of aches and my body doesn’t feel quite right, like it’s not fitting properly”

“I mean, you were in a coma”, Martin says helplessly, and immediately bites his tongue when Jon’s head jerks towards him.

“How long?”, he asks, vision spinning behind his eyes from having turned too fast.

“Six weeks, almost seven- Jon”, Martin adds, when Jon sways slightly, eyes fluttering shut, “are you- come on, lay back down, okay?”

Jon doesn’t fight him when Martin eases him back against the lumpy pillows, and Martin isn’t quite sure, whether that makes him more or less worried.

“I’m”, Jon barely whispers, “I’m good, I just-“

Then he cuts himself off, shaking his head, which only makes the dizziness worse, but he doesn’t care;

“How are the others?”

“How much do you remember?”

“Only until the unknowing started and everything kind of… went off. It’s a bit hard to put into words”

“Yeah, Basira told us as much- she got out of the ritual alright and she and Melanie are… they’re scared and on edge but they’re okay, I think. Tim and Daisy… not so much. They’re – fire brigade only found you in the rubble and got you here; no one knows where they went and what’s happened to them”

There’s a pause during which neither Jon nor Martin move.

“You know what?” Jon eventually asks weakly, “I don’t- I don’t think I’m okay actually”

His voice breaks even before the first sob claws its way past his lips and he squeezes his eyes shut tighter- and Martin is at a loss of what to do. Jon hasn’t been the same ever since the day Jane Prentiss had attacked the archives, but Martin has never seen him break down like this- and now he’s just standing there, still holding Jon’s hand at least but that doesn’t seem to be doing much for either of them at this point.

“Jon”, Martin says softly, but Jon merely starts crying harder, so Martin decides to cast caution into the wind and just ask, “Jon, can I hug you?”

“P-please”

Martin would be lying if he said that sitting down next to Jon wasn’t an enormous relief after standing hunched over for so long, but right now, he’s a bit preoccupied with the way Jon presses himself against Martin as soon as he’s close enough. So, he merely wraps his arms around Jon and holds him as close as he can while he sniffs and shakes in Martin’s embrace, all the while trying to ignore his own heartbeat speeding up and the blood rising to his cheeks when Jon buries his face in his shoulder.

It’s been years since Martin had been close enough to anyone to comfort them whilst crying, or vice versa and he’s slightly lost when he brings up one hand to first touch, then slowly run his fingers through Jon’s prematurely grey-streaked hair. He’s also not quite sure, what to say to Jon, without oversimplifying the whole situation or making him feel awkward.

“I’m here”, is what he settles for in the end, “I got you, you’re not alone”

At least it’s not a lie - and it does seem to help, although it’s a long time before Jon calms down.

“I’m, I’m sorry”, he whispers into Martin’s chest when he’s able to breathe properly again.

“Jon, no offense but I’m pretty sure if there’s anyone entitled to have a good cry, it’s you”

Martin’s teeth sink into his bottom lip when Jon lifts his head then, eyes red and puffy, lashes clumped together and cheeks still glistening with tears; he’s pretty sure, he’s at last overstepped a line. But then Jon’s lips twitch into a wobbly smile and before long he’s laughing, low and rough and still undercut by sniffling and Martin smiles back hesitantly.

“Probably”

Jon’s head sinks back against Martin’s shoulder, and after a short pause, Martin tightens his hold around Jon a bit. They sit in silence for a couple of minutes, during which Martin is acutely away of Jon’s body next to his, still too cold and frail but at last breathing and alive. Only when the faint noises of some kind of commotion outside drift in, muffled by the door, does Martin sit up straighter with a start.

“What is it?”, Jon asks, eyes darting from Martin to the door.

“I- I’m just so stupid, I have to get a nurse and your doctors“

“That’s- you’re probably right”, Jon sighs, abandoning the thought of refusal halfway through, “could- could you give me a moment first though? Just…”, he trails off, vaguely gesturing towards his red eyes.

“Of course”

“And could you-“, Jon starts too fast, then shakes his head again, “never mind, it’s fine”

“What is it?”

“I- would you terribly mind staying with me for a bit? Not long, just-”

“You don’t expect me to just go and leave you here all alone after I-“, _after I sat with you every day for weeks after weeks, desperately hoping for you to wake up._ But Martin cuts himself in before the words get out. “of course I’ll stay with you. I- I actually wanted to ask you, whether you… had a place to stay tonight, someone to stay with I could call while they’re doing their tests”

“I don’t think I can call Georgie again… and”, Jon winces slightly at the mere thought of asking Basira or Melanie to have a sleepover, and he can’t very well ask Martin to watch over him after… no matter how much he wants to, he has a shred of dignity left, “no, I don’t think you’ll have to call anyone. I’ll be fine on my own”

“You don’t have to, of course, but- I just don’t like the thought of you being on your own after this”, _I don’t want to leave you out of my sight for a second, after I’ve just gotten you back_ , “look, my flat’s not that far away, and you could just, I mean if you don’t mind-”

“I- thank you, Martin. I don’t want to impose-”

“You’re not”, Martin cuts him off too fast, fighting the urge to squeeze his eyes shut when Jon’s gaze flicks up to him, “you’re, you’re fine. Let’s do that, okay?”

“Okay”, Jon whispers, biting his tongue to keep himself from blurting out anything else. Anything he should have told Martin before the- anything he should have told Martin way back when.

“I think, I better get those tests behind me then, don’t I? Are my eyes still…?”

“You”, _are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen_ , “you look okay. I’ll go get a nurse”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments are always appreciated.  
> I hope, you enjoyed this and are as safe and happy right now as possible.  
> Lots of love <3
> 
> (I should probaby also warn you that there's going to be an actual plot, although there's still going to be loads and loads of fluff)


	3. III.

Martin doesn’t know what kind of orders the hospital staff had been given when Jon had been admitted - and he actually doesn’t know what they had been told in general - but he’s still surprised by how quickly they finish their examinations and discharge Jon. Although, he suspects that the last part might have something to do with the fact that most of the staff is kind of creeped out by the whole affair, now that Jon’s woken up and too okay after a weekslong coma more than ever.

That doesn’t mean he minds only having to kill about three hours until they can leave instead of spending the whole night at the hospital. He still quietly thanks the universe that, by the time Jon is allowed to return to his room, it’s far too late to even think about stopping by the archives and hope to find anyone there but Peter Lukas who seems to never leave at all.

Jon makes a face when he’s told to sit down in the wheelchair that had been brought up to his room once he had gotten the okay to leave on his own responsibility, but he does comply. The coolness of the chair’s footplate seeps through his thin white slippers almost at once, and even with Martin’s coat wrapped around him – which Jon had only accepted after Martin had made it clear that he was fine in his spare cardigan and wouldn’t put the coat on himself for anything in the world either way - it doesn’t take long for his teeth to start chattering. He’s still shivering when Martin helps him into the taxi’s backseat before he returns the wheelchair and tells the driver his address once he’s gotten into the car as well. Apparently, Jon’s shoes had been thrown out along with the rest of his clothes and everything he’d had with him when he’d been admitted.

Martin decides against joking that at least one good thing has come out of Peter Lukas being in charge, as ever since he had taken over, the institute seemed to have taken to save on their heating bills and almost all of the staff had taken up bringing extra clothes rather than taking the issue up with the new boss himself. He doesn’t want to bring the archives up before he absolutely has too, not with Jon burying into clothes that aren’t his and blindly staring out of the window while they’re making their way through London’s brightly lit streets.

They don’t talk until they’ve exited the cab and watch it drive off into the night, light once again proudly alit in the darkness.

“I’ll pay you back as soon…”, Jon trails off when he remembers that his wallet too had been thrown away, if it even made it as far as the hospital in the first place.

“Forget about it”, Martin waves him off, as he unlocks the front door and waits for Jon to enter before he follows and locks it behind them, “I’m on the second floor”

Martin bites back the question whether Jon needs help on the stairs when he sees him square his shoulders and start towards the first flight of steps. Martin still makes sure to drag his feet and follow Jon as slowly as he can, all the while bracing himself for Jon stumbling or slipping on the well-trodden wood and catching him if need be.

Jon, of course, doesn’t say anything, even as his breath grows heaver after only a handful of steps and he has to grip onto the handrailing to not falter as he marches on. His legs start cramping halfway through the second flight of steps and by the time they have finally reached Martin’s front door, he slumps heavily against the cool wall next to it while Martin rummages around for his keys, clearly stalling to give Jon a chance to catch his breath. He feels his mouth go dry for a reason that has nothing to do with dehydration, although that too is something, he should probably take care of either way.

“So, first things first”, Martin tells him when he finishes bolting the door, which takes some time considering the number for door chains and latches, “bathroom, bedroom, kitchen, living room”, he points to each door in turn, then gestures towards the room they had just entered, “I’ll get you some towels if you want to shower?”

“I… I’d rather do that tomorrow morning if it’s alright with you?”

After all, slipping and cracking his head in the shower isn’t exactly the kind of death Jon feels should take him after the last couple of months, and he is _not_ going to ask Martin to help him with that.

“That’s probably a good idea. I could get you some warmer clothes though?”

“That would be much appreciated”, Jon shows him a soft smile, eyes already darting around the room and taking everything in.

“I- it’s usually not _this_ messy”, Martin mutters as he follows Jon’s gaze and only then notices the basket of half-folded laundry on the couch, the books and still partially unpacked boxes strewn around the flat, “didn’t have the- kinda couldn’t bring myself to properly unpack since…”

“I like it”, Jon finds himself saying, about as surprised as Martin to find that it’s the truth; it’s an endearing kind of mess, with the mismatched furniture and everyday sort of clutter everywhere. Even half-unpacked it feels much more homely than Jon’s own flat – which he only now dimly realizes he doesn’t have a key to anymore.

“Would you like a cup of tea?”, Martin asks when the silence stretches on between them, and Jon honestly feels like he might start crying again.

“Desperately”

“Oh, I- I think I got some green tea or earl grey”

“I’m not picky”

“Yes, you are”, Martin can’t help himself but disagree and feels warmth flood through him, when Jon laughs softly and shakes his head.

“Maybe. I’d prefer green tea _if_ it’s not too great a bother”

“Of course not. I’ll just put the kettle on, then we can search for some clothes for you”, Martin tells him as he makes his way over to the kitchen, Jon following after a moment.

“I’m afraid, all of these are going to be a bit”, Martin casts his gaze from the woollen jumper, socks and joggers in his hands to Jon who is already drowning in the hospital issued pants and shirt, “…quite large on you”

“That’s perfectly alright, thank you”

Their fingers brush when Jon accepts the clothes and both of them start. For an instant, just as long as they had touched, the dull ache that had settled on Jon’s whole body once… once Martin had let go of him earlier at the hospital, seems to lift, but it’s back as soon, as Jon pulls back his hands, so he’s probably just imagined it.

“Thank you”, Jon repeats, cradling trousers and jumper to his chest, “I’d just…”

He makes a vague gesture and almost immediately colour starts rising to Martin’s cheeks.

“Of course, I-“

The shriek of the tea kettle saves him, and he heads back towards his tiny kitchen, leaving the door slightly ajar on his way out.

Jon only notices he’s smiling again, when he turns and finds himself face to face with the window opposite Martin’s bed. The glass is slightly grimy, but it reflects him just the same behind the three potted plants crowding on the windowsill. Jon’s smile fades almost as soon as he sees himself. It’s not that he doesn’t recognize himself at first; he still looks basically the same- he looks almost exactly like he did two months ago, his hair has more grey in it and his skin is a little paler, the dark circles beneath his eyes more pronounced but that’s about it. And somehow that’s worse.

Thinking about it, Jon isn’t sure what exactly he had expected; he had barely had time to think about his appearance between waking up, being examined and taking Martin up on his offer to spend the night, had barely had the energy to think about anything really. His head still feels fuzzy and the tiredness that had settled over his whole body once they’d left the hospital makes every movement a chore- which, Jon supposes, is still not how one should feel after a coma.

His movements are still a bit… unprecise, half the time he reaches further than he means to, closes his fingers too loosely, and in turn too tightly around the hems of his clothes. And he’s still _so cold_. Even after he has finally, finally finished changing, and pulled the wonderfully thick knitted socks onto his feet, the chill isn’t gone, and he shrugs on the cardigan Martin has left for him on the bed.

He tells himself that he doesn’t even notice that it smells of Martin when he pulls the sleeves over his hands and stiffly bends over to pick up the discarded hospital pyjamas. _They_ don’t smell of anything when he fights his uncooperative fingers to fold them and set them down on a small dresser next to the door, they’re not even particularly warm even though he had to have been wearing them all day.

He must look ridiculous in Martin’s clothes; the sweatpants hang off him even though he’s tied the cord as tightly around his waist as he could and pool around his feet, the jumper too feels more like a shapeless dress than anything else. But, Jon decides whilst pointedly ignoring his reflection, he really doesn’t care. It’s comfortable, and he feels a little warmer already, just thinking about whom these clothes would normally envelop.

“Jon?”, Martin’s voice comes through just then and Jon turns to face the door, “are you okay?”

“Yes, fine”, he opens the door carefully as not to hit Martin, “I’m sorry. I’m just still a little…”, Jon shrugs helplessly.

“No, no, of course. I- I just got worried. You know? After everything…”

“Perfectly understandable”, Jon nods, quite aware that he’s been drinking in the sight of Martin for the better part of this conversation.

When they’d first come in, Martin had switched on the ceiling lights, and even beneath their week light, Martin has the deepest blue eyes Jon had ever seen in real life and about the longest lashes. His lips are bitten as always, and Jon quickly averts his eyes when he realizes where his gaze has drifted.

He quietly wonders, how exactly he had managed to work with this man for months without noticing how beautiful he was. Then again, he has a track record of getting off on the wrong foot with someone and only seeing the worst in them afterwards- and to fall in love with them at some point without noticing until it was too late. The first year after he’d met Georgie had been an experience.

“So…”, Martin trails off, awkwardly rubbing his hand along the back of his neck when Jon keeps… starring isn’t the right word, intensely looking perhaps? And Jon has piercing eyes on the best of days - Martin would know with how many cheesy metaphors he’s written about them.

“Tee’s ready. I put a little honey in yours, thought it might help with the…”

Martin gestures towards his own neck, then flushes when he realizes, it might look light he’s miming slitting his own throat. He remembers how awkward it had been for Jon after Daisy had cut his neck, shallowly but enough to draw blood and enough for it to take several days to heal. Martin had made him tea then too, had pretty much done that and was still doing it all the time anyway- but he had also spilled an almost full cup of oversweet rosehip tea over Melanie’s last report. She had made a point of talking about how peaceful the archives had gotten since Jon had finally shut up and that all it had taken to accomplish that, was slashing his throat a bit while Jon had still been in earshot. Jon had not said a word but pressed his lips together before he’d returned to his office, the files he’d come out to get forgotten on a desk. The mug of rosehip tea had already been on the little kitchen counter, but Martin had stirred in a couple sugar cubes after he’d come up with an excuse to check in on Jon and had seen his red eyes.

“That’s very considerate of you”, Jon says and wishes he could take the words back and chose different ones almost before he has closed his lips again. He just hopes, it didn’t come out sarcastically, like most things somehow ended up doing. “Thank you, Martin”, he adds, when the thought of having snubbed Martin yet again becomes too unbearable, doing his best to sound sincere.

“It’s nothing”, Martin waves him off, but he’s smiling- and he’s even more beautiful when he smiles, “I also made toast and heated up some chicken-soup”, he goes on as he leads Jon back into the living room and over to the plush sofa he’d inherited from the former tenant. Two sets of steaming bowls and mugs are already laid out on the coffee table, half a dozen slices of golden toast wait on a plate between them, “it’s instant and I know, it’s not exactly appetizing but it’s the only thing I had that didn’t take ages to make and I just thought you might be hungry or would just like something warm in your belly…“, Martin ends with a helpless shrug and, not quite looking at Jon, sits down next to him.

“Martin-“

“And don’t tell me, I shouldn’t have made anything. I know you probably wouldn’t ask for anything to eat at all even-“, Martin cuts him off, eyes now firmly fixed on the spoon that’s half-submerged in his own mug.

“You’re probably right with that one”, Jon says softly, then does something that’s taking himself by surprise and he places his hand, the one without burn scars, on Martin’s knee, gently squeezing it before he goes on, “and I’m aware that I sound like a broken record player, but _thank_ _you._ ”

“Well, you’re welcome”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading - I hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> Also, get ready for real feels and communication next week <3


	4. IV.

Dinner is a quiet affair. Martin, on his part, is just glad Jon is actually eating, although he does so slowly and pauses every couple of bites. When Martin returns from the kitchen, having stowed away the dishes in the kitchen sink until tomorrow, and places two fresh mugs of tea on the table instead, Jon has pulled his feet up onto the couch and crossed his legs underneath himself.

“You look better”, Martin tells him whilst settling down on the other end of the couch. It’s not a terribly large sofa, but he doesn’t want to crowd into Jon too much.

“I feel much better, thank you”, Jon agrees, then goes still, fingers twisting in his lap he looks around the room.

“Is there something you want to say?”

Martin somehow manages to keep the smile out of his voice, but there is something inexplicably sweet about Jonathan Sims just looking so utterly unsure and almost shy. Maybe it’s just because he would never allow anyone, he didn’t trust at least a little bit to see him like this, but then again, maybe Martin is just telling that to himself.

“I, ah, I would like to ask you something”

“Go ahead then…?”, Martin prompts softly when Jon doesn’t elaborate.

“I would, it’s just…”, Jon trails off yet again, then sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, “I’m afraid I might compel you if I asked. It’s… it’s kind of a personal question and I don’t- I’m not sure how well I can control it right now”

“You could just know it?”

“That would hardly be fairer towards you, now would it? And I’m trying my best not to know anything about you”

“Sorry, I didn’t think”, Martin says, not entirely sure, whether he should feel flattered or offended.

“No, it’s fine just… it’s starting again, and I really don’t want to push for knowledge right now if I don’t-”

“I get it, well sort of”, Martin amends when Jon raises an eyebrow at him, “you know what? Just ask, I don’t mind either way”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, I trust you not to ask anything about my family or anything… intimate”

Martin flushes a bit at the last word, but Jon just watches him straight-faced. If he thinks it strange that the two things off limits are Martin’s (albeit non-existent) sex life and relatives of all things, he doesn’t mention it and Martin breathes a little easier. He doesn’t need Jon to find out about that mess if he doesn’t know already.

Then again, Jon would probably have to listen to _that_ tape at some point anyway, and even if he didn’t, someone would probably tell him once he was back at the archives.

“I wouldn’t”, Jon tells him firmly, then adds, “I could… phrase it so you only had to say yes or no? If that works? I haven’t tried it before though”

“You can try if it makes you more comfortable”

“Martin”, and for a moment the old, exasperated Jonathan Sims is back, but it only lasts for a second or two before his face softens and he looks right at Martin, “it’s not me I’m worried about- yes, I know, I know”, he sighs before Martin has even started telling him off, “but I’m serious. This really is about what… would make things less awkward for you if I messed up and I don’t want to overstep any boundaries”

What little boundaries there could still be after Jon had literally burst into tears in front of him and had taken him up on his offer to stay the night. After he’d put on Martin’s clothes and- Jon stops there.

“Then you ask me like that and if I want to elaborate, I do?”, Martin asks and Jon nods after a long moment.

“Yes or no”, Jon starts, and Martin can’t help himself but grin a little at his tone of voice, “are you scared of me?”

“What? No”, Martin fights the urge to start laughing, “why would you think that?”

“Because I somehow managed to survive an explosion that went off right next to me without a scratch while half the building went down, then laid completely motionless in a hospital bed for weeks, visiting people’s dreams, and now suddenly woke up and am basically fine?”

Jon’s voice pitches higher towards the end of his sentence and now Martin does feel a slight pull behind the words; Jon had always had trouble keeping the compulsion out of his voice when he was worked up.

“I thought you didn’t remember-“

“It’s all coming back”, Jon says bitterly, tapping the side of his head with a lot more force than necessary in Martin’s opinion, “does that change your earlier assessment?”

“No, of course not”, Martin says at once, “Jon, just because you know-“

“This is not a ‘just because’-situation”, Jon cuts him off, fingers now tight on the woollen jumper pooling in his lap, “I’m literally turning into a monster as we speak- probably already did while I was unconscious and only woke up because that’s done”

“No, you’re not”, Martin shakes his head, “firstly, look at the statements; everyone who became an avatar had to kill in the name of their fear and you didn’t do that. Secondly, you still need to eat and drink, probably still have to sleep judging by the bags under your eyes and you very much weren’t fine after you’d woken up. Also, and I didn’t want to bring that up, but we’re not having this conversation again in an hour so I’ll say it right now; the first thing you did once you’d come to was asking about your friends and completely losing it, when you learned that they were gone. That doesn’t really gel with what we’ve learned about the other avatars this far now, does it?”

“You don’t know, whether the other avatars got a functioning metabolism, Martin”, Jon disagrees weakly. He doesn’t add, that neither Tim nor Daisy would probably consider him as a friend at this point.

“ _Do_ the other avatars have to eat and drink to stay alive, Jon?”

“ _They can still choose to do that, but they don’t have to. It’s not like they could die of starvation – although the flesh works slightly differently in that regard_ ”, Jon immediately answers, eyes going bright and out of focus as the knowledge floods over him.

“Also, you didn’t ask for even a single statement since you’ve woken up”

“No… no, I didn’t”

“Do you need one right now? Be honest”

“…I don’t think so”

“Which, with this kind of thing, means definitely no”

Martin sticks to his guns and if Jon’s head wasn’t swimming with everything that’s happening at the moment, he would have a hard time trying to convince himself that he doesn’t desperately want to kiss him right now.

“And”, Martin adds, lowering his gaze, “and I don’t think you woke up because whatever kind of process the eye wanted to put you through was finished”

“You … don’t”, Jon repeats slowly, trying to catch Martin’s gaze but Martin keeps stubbornly not meeting his eye, then asks very carefully, “Why?”

“Well, first of all, I think you’d know-know if that’s what’s happened and you don’t, so… and-”, Martin cuts himself off, still not looking at Jon.

“And?”

“Look, I’m really not sure but… but- please don’t hate me for this, okay?”

“Martin, I don’t think I could ever hate you”

That one does make Martin turn his head and face Jon who feels all colour drain from his face when he realizes what he’s just said out loud but holds Martin’s gaze.

“Go on?”, Jon asks him softly, “please, Martin”

“I…I kind of talked to you? Well, I talked to you a lot while you were… do you remember that?”, Martin starts and silently thanks the stars above when Jon narrows his eyes for a couple of seconds, forehead creasing, then shakes his head;

“Not clearly, not yet at least”

“And today was supposed be the last time I visited you before I’d take Peter up on his offer to work directly for him- I’ll tell you about it later okay?”, Martin asks when Jon opens his mouth and goes on when Jon nods, “anyway, I wanted to properly say goodbye to you, and I did and wanted to leave but…”, Martin’s cheeks are flushed dark red at this point and Jon, after a long moment of consideration, reaches out and clasps his hand on Martin’s shoulder;

“It’s fine, Martin, I promise. Go on? I’m sorry, I’m making you do this, but I have to know”

“And you have a right to know, it’s just- oh god, you’ll never talk to me again after this”

“I highly doubt that, Martin”, Jon shows him a soft smile, then drops his voice, “I’ve got quite good hearing, you don’t have to say it loudly, and only once, and I’ll never mention it again, okay?” 

This at least succeeds in coaxing a weak laugh from Martin before he closes his eyes.

“I told you- because I thought I might never see you again, you see, I- I told you, I told you that I loved you and touched your forehead, with, with my lips that is- only for a second and I apologized immediately and I- I really am sorry! Look, I’m not even sure whether that’s what got you back and I should have never-“

“Martin”, Jon cuts him off, and Martin squeezes his eyes shut tighter at his bewildered tone of voice, as if that might make all of this go away, “Martin, look at me, please”

“I’ll call you a cab straight away and leave while you wait here- and you can keep the clothes of course until you got your own back and burn these-“

“I’m certainly not going to do either of those things, Martin”, Jon says, his face now soft and open, and he’s smiling up at Martin- and Martin has never seen him like this before.

“You’re not?”

“No”, Jon laughs, which once again effectively shuts Martin’s brain off for a moment, “I’m not. I’d- I’d much rather kiss you if you didn’t mind”

“If I didn’t mind you kissing me?”

“That would be the condition, yes”

“I- no. I mean, no, I wouldn’t mind”, Martin says too quickly and he can only make out Jon’s smile widening, before he feels Jon’s left hand cup his cheek and slowly draw him close until their lips almost touch.

Only then does Martin allow himself to exhale, tilting his head to give Jon a better angle when he closes the distance between them. Jon’s lips a slightly dry, Martin is sure his own a chapped but then Jon opens his mouth and Martin loses the ability to form a coherent train of thought for a bit. Jon tastes of green tea and honey and he sighs into Martin’s mouth like an enormous weight has been lifted off his shoulders when Martin brings up his own hands to cup Jon’s face.

“That, that was nice”, Martin whispers into the tiny space between them when they finally pull apart a bit.

He feels Jon nodding more than he can see it, but his voice is clear as he agrees; “It was”

“So, you don’t… you don’t mind…”, Martin can’t help himself but ask.

“That you told me you loved me?”, Jon asks, “Martin I’m not a total hypocrite”

“What?”, Martin hears himself ask.

“What do you think?”, Jon asks back, cocking his head to the side, “Really?”, he asks, when Martin opens his mouth, but no sound comes out and now Jon is full on grinning, reaching out to touch Martin’s jowl, “and there I was thinking everyone at the Institute knew”

“I’m not exactly…”, Martin shrugs helplessly, “I’m usually the last to know anything”

“That’s one thing we got in common I think”, Jon whispers just before he kisses Martin again.

“Of course I love you too”, he pulls back only far enough to breathe the words against Martin’s lips.

“Of course”, Martin echoes, fighting the urge to pinch himself.

“I admit, I’m not exactly adept at communicating my feelings”

“Well, no. But neither am I, so that’s fine I guess”, Martin whispers, but the voice in his head keeps on nagging and he adds, “I actually meant- I meant the other thing”

“The other thing?”

“Me- me kissing you without-“

“Martin, you kissed my _forehead_. Do you know how often Tim- how often he used to do that, without asking?”

“But I’m not-“

“No, you’re not”, Jon cuts him off, squeezing his eyes shut until he’s vaguely sure he won’t start crying again, “you’re the only person alive whom I’m fine with kissing me”

“But I didn’t _know_ you would be-“

“Martin, I really appreciate the sentiment and you’re right in general but firstly, you barely touched my skin, secondly, we’re hardly strangers and thirdly, you woke me up. I won’t have you apologizing anymore okay? As long as you promise not to make a habit of kissing random people awake, of course”

“I wouldn’t- it wasn’t like I-”, Martin interrupts himself, realizing and Jon laughs quietly between them, “that was really unnecessary”

“If you say so”

“You- o my god”, Martin cuts himself of with an exasperated laugh when Jon pulls back far enough to properly look at him.

“I just wanted to make sure you know, you got nothing to be sorry about- in this specific case and you can trust me with that since I was involved and thus have the power to make that assessment”, he adds when Martin looks like he wants to interrupt him, “okay? You didn’t overstep and I’m-”, he casts his eyes downwards for a moment, “I didn’t fully turn into a monster yet then”

“You didn’t”, Martin agrees, then adds, “you won’t” for good measure.

“Well, I can imagine a few people who might disagree with you on that”, Jon mutters, then turns away from Martin and barely has time to cover his mouth before it opens up in a huge yawn.

“Maybe we should call it a night?”, Martin suggests just when Jon says “sorry”.

“Jon, I’m aware that both of us are going to say this a lot, but you don’t have to apologize for everything you do, you know?”

“I-“, Jon starts, then cuts himself off and closes his eyes, “you might be right”

And after everything that has happened today, that’s the thing that makes Martin squeeze shut his eyes and press his lips together to keep himself from crying. The look in Jon’s eyes, when Martin finally opens his own again, is enough to let Martin know he’s just thought the same thing. Martin can almost taste the words on Jon’s lips, when he leans in, soft smile pressing against soft smile as they kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is so much fluff incoming, like so, so much- also some explanations which will blatantly contradict canon but honestly, what does canon matter unless it's sweet and makes one happy?
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading, lots of love.
> 
> (I'm still working on this fic by the way and have 20 chapters down now. Like I said, there's going to be plot but I can already promise, nothing bad or horrible is going to happen to anyone; this is going to stay sweet until the end, albeit a bit dramatic. I am thinking on maybe splicing some chapters into one or maybe drop more than one chapter a week as not to drag this out forever, is that something you guys would be interested in?)


	5. V.

“I should have a spare toothbrush somewhere in a bathroom cabinet”, Martin tells Jon when he finally does get up and offers him a hand, which Jon accepts after a short moment of hesitation, and allows Martin to guide him to the bathroom.

“Towels and stuff are in there”, Martin points at the cabinet next to the sink once he’s handed him the promised toothbrush, “you can take whatever you want- in general, not just in here of course, just tell me if you can’t find something, okay?”

“I will, thank you”

By the time Jon returns from the bathroom, the living room and kitchen are empty and dark. The only source of light is the open door leading to Martin’s bedroom where Martin has just finished changing the sheets and is currently stuffing the used bedclothes into an already half full laundry basket in the corner of the room.

“Do you normally change your sheets twice a week?”, Jon asks from the threshold before realizing, that that’s once again information he should not possess.

“Not really”, Martin answers without turning around, “but I thought it would be a bit crummy giving you ‘used’ sheets”

He stretches his arms over his head when he gets up from his crouch, then finally turns to face Jon;

“You okay?”

“I just- you don’t have to sleep next to me just because-“, Jon has once again pulled the sleeves of his sweater over his wrists and hands and is now worrying the hems between his fingers, “I mean, I’d like that but I don’t want to make you-“

“I was actually gonna sleep on the couch and give you some space”, Martin cuts him off with a smile that only widens a bit when Jon flushes the deepest shade of red Martin has seen on him yet. Then again, he’s rarely seen Jon get flustered before which, Martin now decides, is a damn shame because it might be the most adorable thing he’s ever seen, “but I’d love to sleep with- sleep _here_ if you’d want me to”

“I’d like that an awful lot”, Jon mutters towards the dark floorboards.

“Then I’ll be right back. Would you switch the lamp on my nightstand on? Oh, and you can start looking for a shirt or something to sleep in if that jumper’s too warm”

“I’m still a bit chilled”, Jon tells him when Martin returns in his pyjamas and makes to close the door behind himself, then stops.

“Would you rather have it open or closed?”, he asks Jon, who’s still hovering at the foot of the bed.

“Closed please”

“Okay”, Martin says as he pushes the door shut, switches off the ceiling lights and makes his way to the other side of the bed, “you can sit down, you know”

“I, I’m just”, Jon trails off but follows Martin’s lead, and sits down on the very edge of the mattress.

“Awkward?”, Martin asks with a soft laugh as he extends a hand towards Jon and gently tugs him closer to the middle of the bed, “I wouldn’t have noticed. It’s cute”

Martin is not quite sure what’s gotten into him; maybe it’s the way Jon is drowning in his borrowed clothes or how he’s been looking at Martin ever since they’d started talking, maybe it’s the fact that he can’t quite believe all of this is really happening. When Martin had woken up that morning, almost missed his train and had had to slog through a statement and research on an empty stomach before lunch had rolled around, all the while dreading to come by the hospital in the evening for the last time, he had not imagined that his day would end the way it had. And now Jonathan Sims is sitting on his bed, knees drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped around them as he gazes around the dimly lit room.

“I’m not cute, Martin”, he says, but there’s no bite to it.

“Whatever you say”

“Are you… would you mind if we didn’t go to sleep straight away?”, Jon asks after a couple of minutes, voice soft and unsure.

“Of course not, just tell me when you’re getting tired”, Martin agrees, “although I’m going to lay down. You can join if you want to”

“Will that be less awkward?”, Jon asks, but he’s smiling softly down at Martin, who has indeed shifted onto his side and placed a hand on Jon’s knee.

“I’m comfortable”, he shrugs, as well as one can shrug whilst laying on his side, “but you don’t have to of course- oh”

Martin cuts himself off when Jon lays down next to him, head coming to a rest on the pillow next to Martin’s.

“Hi”, Jon whispers, then makes a face that lasts until Martin echoes him with a soft laugh.

“May I?”, he asks as he lifts one hand up and lets it hover over Jon’s side and Jon nods, pushing a little closer to Martin.

“Would you mind if I …?”, he starts, reaching out towards Martin’s face.

“No, of course not”

Martin moves towards Jon’s outstretched hand until he can feel the tips of his fingers brush against his cheek.

“Your skin feels nice”, Jon whispers as he cups Martin’s face and brushes the pad of his thumb along his jowl, “you look lovely, I- oh- o my god, sorry”, he snatches his hand back at once.

“What’s wrong?”

“I”, Jon gazes down at his right, burnt hand, balls it into a fist, “I didn’t mean to- with-“

“Jon, I don’t mind which hand you touch me with”, Martin reaches out with his own hand to take Jon’s, gently unfurls his fingers and brings it back up to his face, “I promise, I don’t, as long as it isn’t hurting you”, he presses his lips against the back of Jon’s hand, then his palm inside where the skin is still rough to the touch, and lays it back against his own cheek, holding it in place when Jon makes no move to pull back, “okay?”, he asks.

“You don’t have to do this”, Jon sighs but keeps stroking Martin’s skin.

“I know”, Martin says, deciding to be blunt, “but I want to. I like being close to you”

“I like that too”, Jon whispers, “just tell me if…”

“I will, but you do the same, okay?”

“Okay”

“Jon?”, Martin asks after a couple of minutes.

“Yes?”

“Can I- would you mind if I held you? You don’t have-“

Before Martin has finished his sentence, Jon closes the last bit of distance between them and slings his arms around Martin’s neck. He shifts only when Martin has trouble sliding his right arm between Jon’s waist and the mattress. As soon as his other arm settles around Jon and he pulls him close, all tension leaves Jon’s body and he melts into Martin’s embrace.

“Okay?”, he asks into Jon’s hair. It brushes against his chin and tickles the skin of Martin’s neck when Jon nods and buries his face in Martin’s soft pyjama jacket.

He feels the warm puff of air when Martin exhales above him, then ducks his head and kisses his hair.

“Still awake, don’t worry”, he tells Martin’s chest and he can feel him first go still, then chuckle.

“I’m never going to hear the end of that, am I?”

“No, I don’t think so”, Jon purrs, and Martin hugs him tighter, “it’s far too sweet a story”

“Maybe”, Martin concedes, and they lapse into silence again.

It’s only when Jon can’t hear Martin’s heartbeat over his racing thoughts anymore that he breaks the quietness.

“Martin, I need to ask you a favour”

“Course”

Martin has started rubbing slow circles between Jon’s shoulder blades at some point and Jon feels so comfortable and secure, his chest aches just a bit.

“I need you to ask me what’s happening- in the broadest sense. I can’t quite wrap my head around everything and focus on what I need to know”

“Jon…”, Martin sighs quietly above him, “are you sure that’s a good idea? Tonight, I mean? You’re still exhausted and I’m not sure-“

“Look, the only thing I know right now is, that it wasn’t the beholding that got me out of that coma, and that it wasn’t something I did either. I don’t remember the dreams clearly yet, but I do remember that I was watching someone while the eye was above me and then I- I was suddenly back and you were there but I don’t know how exactly that happened”

“Maybe it’s like in those fairy tales; true love’s kiss or something?”, Martin asks, and he asks it jokingly because that’s just not-

But then Jon goes stiff in his arms and Martin carefully pulls back far enough to see his face.

“Jon?”

“ _That’s exactly what it was_ ”, Jon says, voice clear and eyes staring blankly ahead, “ _you outright told me how you felt about me and kissed me. Since I’ve been in love with you for months, your affirmation and reciprocation of my feelings caused my alliance to shift from the ceaseless watcher to love, which in turn broke me out of my coma since the beholding no longer holds power over either you or me. Whilst not strictly necessary, you kissing me did effectively function as an anchor and let me return to my body immediately_ ”

Jon blinks and his eyes refocus on Martin who has been starring at him for the better part of the last minute.

“I- _what_?”, Martin asks, voice high-pitched, “ _I was joking_ ”

“Doesn’t matter to the eye- doesn’t matter to love apparently”, Jon whispers tonelessly, “just for your information; the eye didn’t care about that either”

“That’s- Jon, that’s so not the point right now”

“I know- look I didn’t expect this either, okay?”

“Of course, of course, just”, Martin makes himself take a deep breath and exhale before he goes on in a slightly calmer tone of voice; “I thought, you said that there aren’t any positive powers like love and hope and such?”

“That’s what Gerry said”, Jon says, voice growing quieter with every word.

“Well, he didn’t exactly have a happy life or anyone who really loved him- or vice versa, I guess. Gertrude neither from what you’ve told me”, Martin muses quietly, “maybe it’s one of those things, you have to experience for yourself to know about?”

_“You actually don’t get choose whether you want to serve love not; since the mere idea of it requires trust and the will to share and communicate, to care and be close to another, it directly counteracts most of the fears. Most people who serve it don’t notice it, since it does not require the kind of servitude the other fears entail and it is not a service you enter by your own volition. If however people familiar with the concept of the ancient fourteen fall or remain in love after serving at least one fear, they will notice love warping the abilities their former patron has given them.”_

“And in your case that means…?”

“ _Since the beholding cares about information and knowledge, its followers become attuned to this need and slowly but surely become omniscient- with a special focus on other humans fears and trauma of course. Since love is all about the ability to let yourself be seen and still be accepted and loved for who you are, that person embraces the fear of being observed, leaves the service of the eye and thus is able to wield their powers freely. This obviously goes not only for romantic love but every kind of love_ ”

Jon shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut once he is finished. His hair falls into his face when he lets his head fall forward and against Martin’s shoulder.

“Can we stop please?”, he asks weakly, against the dull throb behind his eyes.

“Yes, oh my god, I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean to-“

“I know, but you were right, I’m still worn out and… knowing stuff gets really exhausting like this”, Jon sighs quietly then shakes his head, “and we still have to make a plan for tomorrow and-“

“I texted the others while you were changing”, Martin interrupts him, “told them that I wouldn’t be in tomorrow and wrote a mail to Peter- what? It’s not like we’re effectively working on anything or like I could get fired”

“But we have to talk to them and-“

“Jon, you woke up less than six hours ago, you need to rest- and don’t you dare come at me with something like ‘I’ve been resting for seven weeks, Mahtin’”, Martin cuts him off, and walks over Jon’s answer before he’s even opened his mouth again.

“I don’t sound like that”, is what Jon ends up saying when he fails to come up with another point on the spot. His voice comes out muffled against Martin’s chest.

“That’s what you’ve got a problem with?”

“Well, that and the fact that we really don’t have time for-“

“Jon, we will make time for you recovering, so help me god. You remember that part about caring for the ones you love?”

“Martin, there’s so much-“,

“One weekend, okay? We’ll wait until Monday before we get together with Basira and Melanie and come up with a plan of action, okay?”, Martin sighs again, his breath tousling Jon’s loose curls, then goes on, “it won’t make much sense trying to come up with anything when we still don’t know what…”, he makes a vague gesture that encompasses the whole room, “all of this actually means and what we’re up against now. I doubt Elias’ just sitting back in his cell and twiddling his thumbs”

“Since when has Elias been in prison?”, Jon asks, pushing himself up to look at Martin.

“Couple of weeks”, Martin drawls out the words just a bit, not quite able to not grin as he’s saying it out loud, “had him escorted right out of your sickroom”

“Which is much appreciated”

Jon mirrors his grin, then tips his head back and very slowly leans into Martin and brushes their lips together when Martin doesn’t pull away.

“I’m glad your plan worked out” 

“Well, now we got Peter Lukas, so…”

“Yes, but we also got Elias wearing handcuffs and sleeping on a slab of cement”, Jon points out as he places on hand on Martin’s shoulder and rests his chin on top of it, “I do hope, there’s mugshots of him being incarcerated”

“So that’s a yes then?”, Martin asks hopefully, “we’ll wait until Monday to get together with Melanie and Basira?”

“I-“, Jon starts, but then meets Martin’s eyes and his resolve crumbles, “perhaps that’s for the better”, he somehow manages to get the words past the lump in his throat, “thank you, Martin, I wouldn’t know what-“, he cuts himself off, voice choked with the realization that, for the first time in years, someone actually cares about him and his wellbeing, “just thank you”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, today's statement... I honestly think, I might start posting additional chapters between Thursdays with the trauma that's going to come in canon. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading and a special thanks to anyone who is commenting! You lovely people are literally the reason I (and most other people posting things on here) continue writing and you can't imagine the joy I get when I see your reactions! It also really helps with adjusting certain bits or the focus of what I have already written (21 chapters at this point and we're nearing the happy end!) 
> 
> As always, I hope you've enjoyed this and lots of love! Stay safe, friends <3
> 
> (oh, and I know that this doesn't go with canon at all but, well, that's kind of what we're here for - and I felt giving an explanation that kind of works woudl probably be better than just handwaving it <3)


	6. VI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Semi)Surprise update!

For all of Jon’s resolve to get all questions answered tonight and lay down, at the very least, the basics of how to deal with Elias and save the world, his lids do grow heavy and his voice quiet after a little over an hour and he ends up falling asleep in Martin’s arms.

Martin, on his part shifts only until he can switch of the light on his nightstand, then lays very still, Jon’s face buried in his chest and his breath flowing against the little gap between the buttons on his pyjama jacket. Neither of them had closed the blinds before they’d lain down and seeing that Jon is laying more or less on top of Martin, there is little chance of that changing anytime soon. At least the orange light falling in from the streetlights below gives Martin the chance to just watch Jon’s face a bit – even if he has to bend his neck at an awkward angle that rams his chin into his throat and makes breathing just a little bit challenging.

It is worth being able to look at Jon though, and Martin has to remind himself every couple of seconds to not make a sound or start crying out of gratitude as he watches Jon’s relaxed face, feels his chest rise and fall against his own and listens to his deep and even breathing in the tiny, dark bedroom that hasn’t encompassed anyone but Martin since Tim had– but Martin pushes that thought away, tries to ignore the bitter taste it leaves in his mouth as he tugs the blankets a little higher around them and brushes his lips against Jon’s hair.

Jon shifts from time to time in his sleep, murmuring so lowly into Martin’s shoulder that Martin can’t make out what he’s saying, before he moves again, fingers opening and closing around the blankets and the fabric of Martin’s pyjamas. His elbow digs into Martin’s stomach from time to time between them but he’s solid in Martin’s embrace, too thin, almost gaunt but undeniably there and he keeps pushing closer in his sleep, had wanted to sleep with, well not _with_ Martin and-

Martin forbids himself to shudder whilst recalling the evening and everything Jon had told him, the other things Jon lips had been busy with doing and how soft they’d been against his own. How Jon had touched Martin’s cheeks and hair with the very tips of his fingers, had only opened his eyes after they’d pulled apart and had smiled up at Martin. Martin’s own lips tingle as he smiles quietly in the dark and fights the urge to hug Jon closer to his chest.

When Martin had had to move into the archives and Jon had had to stay the night from time to time when he hadn’t noticed it had gotten dark outside while he’d been working, they had sometimes sat together on the worn-out couch and quietly talked. Back then Martin had thought these moments, these handful of hours collected over the course of weeks to be the hight of bliss he could ever hope to retain when it came to being with Jon; just a couple of moments shared between them, filled with nothing but not quite small talk, not quite real conversation but something in between, something almost simple that just was and chased the loneliness away for a bit.

Martin is fairly sure their bodies had not even touched on those occasions; there had always been space between them and be it just an inch, a move aside before the other came too close. He’s not quite sure, who had moved away though; if it had been a move away at all or just fear of coming to close and finding one wanted to stay. But Jon had come as close to smiling as Martin had ever seen him back then and he had _listened_ , really listened to Martin and sometimes Martin had allowed himself the thought that Jon might not hate him after all. These little moments had been few and far in between though, even before Prentiss had infiltrated the institute and after the day of the attack, after Martin had stumbled upon Gertrude’s body…

At this point, Martin can’t remember how often he’d thought back to his conversation with Jon in that filing room and how often he’d wished that he’d just opened his mouth back then and told him, or at least had had the guts to talk to him before the unknowing. Maybe it would have helped, maybe it would have changed something…

Martin must have dozed off at some point because the next thing he knows is that he’s covered in cold sweat and that someone is touching his face and stroking back his hair, all the while talking to him. It takes Martin a moment to even make out what they’re saying with his heart hammering away in his chest and his pulse and heavy breathing drowning out every other sound.

“You’re okay”, is the first thing that manages to get through to Martin, “you’re save, I’m here”, followed by something else but Jon says it under his breath as he keeps brushing the tips of his fingers along Martin’s cheeks.

“What was that?”, Martin asks then, chest still rising and falling too fast in the red-orange light of an early sunrise.

“Nothing important”, Jon tells him softly as he bends over him and rests his forehead against Martin’s, “are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I just-“, Martin forces himself to take another deep breath, colour already rising to his cheeks, “just had a bad dream I guess”

“I noticed”

Jon’s hair had fallen forward when he’d bent his head and now it looks like his face is hovering above Martin in a grey-black void. The tips brush against Martin’s skin whenever Jon as much as breaths, his hands remain cupping Martin’s cheeks and cradling his face between the palms of his hands. 

“I’m sorry, I woke you up”

“You know, I kind of don’t mind being woken these days”

“That kind of makes sense”, Martin allows after a short pause, slowly bringing up his arms and wrapping them around Jon’s middle.

He tightens his hold around Jon a bit when he feels him exhale and his shoulders drop and carefully tugs once. Only when Jon shifts towards him, does Martin continue and pull Jon on top of himself.

“Can you still breathe?”, Jon asks once he’s finished hooking his leg over Martin’s, hands now braced against the pillow on either side of Martin’s head.

“You weigh about five pounds”

“I do not”

“Are _you_ comfortable?”, Martin asks, ignoring Jon’s protest.

“Very”, Jon sighs, allowing his head to drop back forwards and come to a rest against Martin’s again, “would you like to talk about your dream?”

“I barely remember what it was about, to be honest. Just that I was all alone and scared of something, but I don’t know what it was that time. Did you dream of anything? Do you- I mean do you still have dreams?”

“I don’t remember- I don’t think so tonight. But I did- did have dreams before… the coma, probably during as well but those are still fuzzy”

“Probably weren’t happy dreams either, were they?”

“Well, before I went to America, I usually had nightmares but as I, as I got better at knowing things, they kind of changed- and I started sleeping less so…”

“How did they change? You don’t have to-“

“No, no, it’s alright”, Jon interrupts him, then makes a sound that’s half snort, half laugh, “probably better to talk about these things anyway”

“I mean, maybe”

“Well, they weren’t… dreams anymore, not _my_ dreams at least. I- I think I just visited other people’s dreams, people who’d given a statement at some point, and watched them relive their trauma- not on purpose! I didn’t really get a say and-“

“I know that, Jon”

“Do you?”

It doesn’t come out as aggressive or accusing but so meek and honest, Martin’s feels his chest constrict.

“Of course”, Martin whispers as he hugs Jon as tightly to his chest as he dares.

He feels every single rib press against his own chest and arms.

\--- 

They do doze off again at some point and the next time it’s Martin who comes to first. He’s not quite sure whether it’s the bright sunlight coming in through the windows or the warmth that’s woken him up, but he feels a lot calmer than the last time. Jon has not moved off of him in his sleep and remains clinging to him, face turned and buried in Martin’s chest yet again.

Martin’s arms have dropped to his sides on some point during the night and he briefly thinks about trying to push the blankets away but he doesn’t want to disturb Jon again so, in the end, settles for carefully placing his hands on his back again and running them up and down his spine. He doubts that Jon can even feel the touch with the sheets and jumper in the way, and his hands still for a moment, when Jon shifts again. The movement brushes his foot against Martin’s shin and only now does he notice that Jon still has socks on. He tries to smother the laugh before it gets out, or before he moves too much and wakes Jon, but the grin remains on Martin’s face until Jon stirs some time later.

“Good morning”, Martin tells him softly, when Jon turns his head and blearily blinks up at him through his black and grey curls.

“Morning”, he yawns into a hand that is placed over Martin’s heart as soon as he closes his mouth again, “how are you?”

“Right now? Kind of really, really happy”

“That’s good”, Jon whispers, returning Martin’s smile as he rests his chin against the back of his hand again, “No more bad dreams?”

“None that I can remember at least”

Martin can’t quite shrug with an entire archivist on top of him.

“Good”

“You sleep alright?”, Martin asks slightly awkwardly when Jon just keeps looking at him, as if he wants to drink in the sight of sleepy, dishevelled Martin Blackwood and keep it in his mind for the rest of his life. At least Martin is fairly confident that he didn’t drool in his sleep. _Although_ , he thinks not entirely jokingly, _after the whole Prentiss thing and other horrific and disgusting stuff that came with working for the Magnus Institute, that’s probably hardly a dealbreaker for Jon at this point._

Jon, who is still dressed in Martin’s clothes and, for really the first time since Martin had met him looks truly comfortable, snuggled into Martin’s chest, hair all over the place and a deep line etched into his cheek from where it had lain against a seam of Martin’s pyjama jacket while he’d slept.

Maybe Martin isn’t much better when it comes to the whole starring-thing.

“Better than I can remember since I started working at the archives”

“Well”, Martin says and before he can decide whether to say the next part out loud or not, his mouth betrays him and the words drop out between them, “I rather like having you here too, so we could make this a thing”

His mind catches up with his words a second later and he snaps his mouth shut, hands stilling against Jon’s back. Of course, he had to say something like this, when there’s absolutely no possibility of avoiding Jon’s eyes, with Jon’s face literal inches away from Martin’s, and nowhere to go with Jon’s suddenly quite still and tense body on top of his.

“Martin, you don’t have to-“, Jon says quietly just when Martin starts apologizing and telling him, that of course he didn’t want to pressure Jon into staying with him.

“This relationship”, Jon tells him drily as soon as Martin has to pause for breath and reaches out a hand to cup Martin’s cheek and brush the pad of his thumb against the soft skin, “is going to entail an extraordinary amount of backtracking and over-explaining oneself, isn’t it?”

“I- maybe”, Martin sighs as he closes his eyes and nuzzles into Jon’s hand. It’s his right hand this time, and Martin makes a point to turn his head and brush his lips against Jon’s palm.

“At least it’s going to be both of us doing it”

“Yeah, probably”

“You sound remarkably thrilled about it”, Jon observes with a quiet smile, raising an eyebrow when Martin opens his eyes and looks at him.

“Well, I did have some hope of not being awkward around you anymore at some point, you know”

“Well, Martin”, Jon says, pulling up his arms and crossing them beneath his chin so his forearms and elbows come to a rest against Martin’s chest, obviously settling in to stay like that for some time and Martin does have to concentrate on not shivering when he hears Jon say his name like that, “I think that ship as sailed a long time ago for the both of us”

Instead of answering, Martin lifts one hand from Jon’s back and places it over the back of his head, running his fingers through his hair.

“You’re like a cat”, he tells Jon, when his eyes immediately slip shut and he tilts his head when Martin stops for even a second.

“I don’t take that as a criticism”

If Jon were a cat, Martin is fairly sure that this would be the point where he’d dig his claws into Martin’s belly. Things being the way they are however, he simply cracks open an eye and shoots Martin a look before he shifts again and buries his face in his arms.

“And why would you?”, Martin asks, already smiling again and only then does it hit him, that he has smiled more often since yesterday evening than… he can’t quite remember. Which is saying enough he supposes, and he doesn’t try to hide his grin while he keeps his hands busy, one petting Jon’s hair and twirling single strands around his fingers from time to time, the other resting against his back as Jon’s chest slowly rises and falls against Martin’s.

Neither of them is tired anymore but this is also the most comfortable morning either Jon or Martin has experienced in a long time and really, what is an hour more or less in bed? The world would be ending again before long anyway.

\---

By the time Jon does disentangle himself from Martin, the sun is so high up in the sky, it has very little rising left until the day has to admit to itself that it has outgrown its morning phase.

Martin doesn’t remember the last time he’s slept in this late and quietly doubts, that there has ever been a day in Jon’s life when he has failed to be up by seven at the latest. He also takes his time getting up after Jon has slipped out of the room and into the bathroom, mussed up curls bouncing along as he’d padded along almost soundlessly on one bare and one socked foot.

“Can I help you with something?”, Jon asks after he had returned to find the bedroom empty and headed for the kitchen instead, where Martin is already beating the last three eggs he had in his fridge into a bowl.

“You could carry our mugs and cutlery into the living room if you want to? I found the last of my fancy stash at the bottom of a box I swear I checked five times for it”

“Anything else?”

This time, Jon returns to the sizzle and smell of pancakes wafting through the tiny kitchen and Martin shakes his head.

“I could do the washing up from last night? Or help you unpack these”, Jon gestures towards yet more half unpacked cardboard boxes sitting in the corner of the room beside the fridge.

“Jon”, Martin says, and the world leaves his lips shaped like a smile, as he turns to the other, “you don’t _have to_ do anything. You can just sit down and, I don’t know, turn on the telly and flip through the awful midday programs? Or read or just sit until I’m finished?”

Martin has to turn back to the stove for a moment, only long enough to scoop the golden brown pancake out of its pan and onto a plate before he pours more batter into the pan and tilts it until it has spread evenly.

“You can also stay here of course, but I…”, he gestures around the tiny room, “there’s not exactly enough room to get comfortable. If you’re bored-”

“I’m not bored”, Jon interrupts him at once, sleeves flopping as he uncrosses his arms and brings one hand up to tug at a dark curl, “I just wanted to help you, be a bit useful after…”

“You do realize, you’re my guest, don’t you? Guests generally don’t have to lift a finger”, Martin tells him as he flips the current pancake, so its done sit is facing them.

“Am I your guest?”, Jon asks, then bites his tongue, “I’m sorry, that came out wrong, I- I just don’t want to leave you with all the work while I sit around and do nothing”

“That’s going to be a problem, I’m afraid”, Martin reaches for Jon’s hand but waits a heartbeat before he allows his fingers to make contact, “because that’s exactly what you’re supposed to do this weekend”

“Martin“, Jon starts, eyebrows drawing high on his forehead and almost meeting in the middle, “we really don’t have time-“

“We went through this last night”, Martin points out as he shifts his grip on the pan, lifts it, and lets the next pancake slide on top of the first one. “you need some time to recover- I know that you’re going to say, you’re perfectly fine now”, he interrupts himself when Jon opens his mouth and pours another ladleful into the pan, “but you’re still too pale and-“, looking at Jon, who has already drawn up his shoulders too high, Martin decides against pointing out, how tired he still looks, how gaunt he has become in general and that Martin is pretty sure that a longer walk, never mind a flight of stairs would probably still put too much strain on him, “look, I’m just worried. I- you only just got back yesterday, and I don’t want you to go ahead like nothing’s happened and like you’re fine to- like you’re fine after everything, when you’re not okay?”

“I get that”, Jon says softly, “I do- and you’re probably right that two days more or less probably won’t be what gets us in the end, but I can’t just do nothing. Every time I stop talking or moving or anything I feel like”, he takes a big, shaky breath then almost laughs, “like my chest’s going tight and I can’t breathe. I’m scared Martin; of losing you, of wasting too much time, of, of everything really”

“I”, Martin starts, then sighs, shoulders dropping, “yeah, that sounds about right”

The rest of the air leaves his lungs in a low, exhale and he remains hunched for a couple of seconds, eyes unfocused as he stares ahead, and Jon starts chewing at his bottom lip as he watches and tries to decide what to do.

He reaches out a hand towards Martin and his fingers have almost made contact, when Martin starts, and his eyes come back into focus.

“Shit”

The next pancake comes up with a rather darker side when he flips it and sets the pan back down.

“Sorry, I’ll have that one”, Martin heaves another sign.

“I prefer my pancakes a bit charred”, Jon tells him as he finally dares to place his hand on Martin’s shoulder, gets onto his tiptoes and brushes his lips against Martin’s cheek, “reminds me of university”

“Do you now?”, but Martin’s quietly chuckling as he ducks his head to catch Jon’s lips in a proper kiss, “keep going like this, and our entire breakfast’s going to be just like your uni-days”, he whispers between them when he pulls back by a hair.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind that all that much”

\---

They end up eating in the living room again, a documentary about the lives of whales with their young playing softly in the background while Jon sits cross legged, right hand intertwined with Martin’s left.

The documentary goes on while they finish their last bites and Martin leans back against the couch, tugging so softly on Jon’s hand, he could very well ignore it. But of course, Jon follows, uncrosses his legs and scoots closer to Martin until he can lean his head against his shoulder and relax against him while Martin slings his arm around him.

“I always preferred whales over dolphins”, Martin says when the camera panes out from the school of whales until the entire screen has become blue and the credits start rolling.

“Dolphins too pedestrian for you?”

“Well, kind of? Most people think their cute or funny or whatever but I just… I just always thought their kind of weird if I’m being honest. Also, they’re not actually happy and friendly like people say. They bite and scar each other when they’re being territorial or competing for mates you know”

“I did in fact not know that”, Jon turns his head until he can look up at Martin again, “but I’m flattered, you just assumed I’d be perfectly informed about marine life”

“In my defence, it would not be the weirdest thing you could have read up on”, Martin points out while Jon shifts and drapes his legs over Martin’s thigh instead of curling them underneath himself, “or rather _known_ about”

“No, I guess not”, Jon murmurs through a contended exhale when Martin’s fingers start dancing up and down his waist, brushing against the bunched-up jumper.

“How’s your head anyway?”

“Better than yesterday”, Jon replies after a short pause, “still a bit sore. Maybe”, he adds, closing his eyes, “maybe I pushed a bit too far last night”

“Maybe”

“Yes, I get it”, Jon sighs, reopening his eyes, “you were right, I should have- I should wait a little longer before I try knowing things again”

“If you say so”, Martin says, trying and utterly failing to sound innocent, rather than pleased.

“Oh, don’t give me that”, but the words have no bite to it and Martin doesn’t even try pushing further, “I already said, I should have listened to you”

“Did you?”

“In all but words”, Jon squints up at Martin, but his eyes are still soft.

“Alright, no need to rub salt into the wound, I wager”, Martin laughs.

“You know I was joking, right?”, Jon asks, shoulders rising on either side of his neck, “I know, I tend to sound-“

“No, I know”, Martin cuts him off, fighting the urge to kiss Jon again, “don’t worry, I know what you meant”

Instead, he adds: “Since knowing stuff is off the table, what would you say to a do-nothing day? I think that’s exactly what we need, before going back to all the horror and dread on Monday”

“Okay”, Jon says after a short pause, during which he has both considered the suggestion and concluded that arguing would get them nowhere anyway. And after all, he didn’t have a day off in… he honestly can’t remember. Probably since he started going to kindergarten.

“On one condition”

“Jon”, Martin sighs, but he drags out the vowel too long to hold any malice, “you’re not supposed to argue about a day of just being lazy”

“Maybe”, Jon agrees, pauses, then concludes, “but I am”

And while Martin groans quietly and rolls his eyes, never quite able to shake of the fond look he’s got reserved for Jon, Jon goes on: “you’ll let me help you in the kitchen or tidying or whatever you have to do around the flat, okay?”

“Fine. But I’ll make the tea”

“It would never have crossed my mind to even suggest such blasphemy”, Jon tells him solemnly and Martin decides that he has already put so much effort into fighting the urge to kiss Jonathan Sims since they had started working together, that it would be stupid to keep holding onto that now.

He still asks Jon if it’s okay, and all the answer he gets is Jon cupping his cheeks and slowly bringing their faces together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for reading - Like I said, I might pick up the pace for posting since I wouldn't want this to take ages <3
> 
> I can't promise that I'll keep to 2 chapters a week but I hope, I won't drop below 1.
> 
> There'll be about 2 more chapter of pure fluff before the plot goes on - then there's going to be fluff and plot <3
> 
> Anyway, I hope, you enjoyed this and thank you once again for your lovely comments, literally the thing that keeps me writing <3
> 
> Oh, and you might have noticed that I decided to splice several very short chapters into one, I hope that's alright with you.
> 
> Lots of love - stay safe and healthy!


	7. VII.

They spend most of that day on the couch in the living room, only getting up and leaving the room in order to brew more tea or select a book from Martin’s sparse collection, that seems even sparser scattered all around his flat on drawers and tables, in boxes and on the floor.

“I used to have more books”, Martin tells Jon after he’s returned from a book-quest that has lead him through almost the entire flat, a collection of Oscar Wilde’s works in his hand, “really liked Stephen King and such, but after…”, he trails off with a slight shiver, and Jon nods.

Martin has laid back against the couch cushions, head pillowed on one armrest and legs stretched out when Jon’s wasn’t occupying that space. He follows Jon’s gaze when he cocks his head to the side, trailing down his legs, realizes and makes to get up, apology already on his lips. He doesn’t come far however, both in case of getting up and apologizing when Jon steps closer, places on knee between Martin’s, the other one following suite and somehow manages to climb on top of Martin, without kneeing or elbowing him as he settles down, opens his book and rests it’s spine against Martin’s chest.

“Okay?”, he asks, uncertainty shining through his words and Martin nods at once.

“Very okay”

“You would tell me if-“

“Of course, but I really don’t mind”, Martin stuffs his phone between his hip and the back of the couch and places his, now free, hands on Jon’s back, slowly running the tips of his fingers up and down against the soft, woollen fabric, “although…”, he adds after a short pause and Jon tips his head back, looking at him rather than the tiny, black print.

“Yes?”

“Would you mind reading out loud? Only-“

“I’d love to”, Jon somehow manages to stretch forward, over the book and kiss Martin’s cheek.

“Poetry or Prose?”, he then asks, but before Martin can answer, he chuckles, pulls back and starts flipping through the pages, “Why would I even ask?”

So, Martin closes his mouth again and simply continues rubbing Jon’s back, twirling his curs around his fingers from time to time when they slide over his shoulder, eyes closed as he listens to the loveliest voice he’s ever heard.

Before long, the words start swimming before Jon’s eyes though and his voice becomes strained. He fights his way through the rest of ‘Her voice’ but he doesn’t fight Martin’s hands gently plucking the tome from his grasp and instead allows his head to fall forward against Martin’s warm chest and buries his face there.

“Thank you”, Martin tells him, one hand now placed over the nape of Jon’s neck, thumb moving up and down through the black and grey curls and Jon smiles into his shirt, not bothering to open his eyes.

He doesn’t ask Martin, whether he’s committing this moment to memory, the warmth and comfort, the love that is enveloping them just as Martin’s embrace envelops Jon whole and he doesn’t _know_ it either. The thing is though, he does know, because he’s doing the same as he presses himself a little harder against Martin and Martin’s arms tighten around him.

“Martin?”, he eventually asks when his chest feels like it might burst at any moment now.

“Mhm?”

Jon is careful, not to move anything despite his neck and head as he lifts it to look at Martin- has to see his face, has to look into his beautiful, beautiful blue eyes that look like someone has poured ink into his iris straight from the bottle.

“Is it too early to tell you that I love you again?”

This close up, he sees Martin’s pupils blow wide at his words, hears his breath catch in his throat and his own follows when Martin hugs him so tight, he can’t breathe at all for a moment.

“No, Jon. Not at all”, he says, fights not to whisper the words, because this is real and not only does he not have to hide his feelings anymore or be ashamed of them, but knows they’re reciprocated. And his voice _is_ a bit stronger when he adds, “I love you too”

“I’ll probably keep telling you”, Jon warns him once he can breathe freely again, “and I’ll probably keep- well, Georgie always told me I was rather clingy. I’m really bad when it comes to that so just tell me if-“

“I will _not_ ”, Martin cuts him off with a snort, holding Jon’s gaze when he regards him with a guarded expression, “you do realize that you’re talking to one of the most touch-starved persons in London? If anything, I’ll be just as bad. So that at least will work out quite nicely”

“I”, Jon says dumbfoundedly, dropping his gaze as his cheeks heat up, “I just thought, I’d mention it”

“And I’m glad you did”, Martin tells him, removing one hand from Jon’s back and laying it against his cheek instead, “really, I’ll be glad about anything you tell me; what you like, what you don’t like and you can ask me anything. I’ll try to be open as well- if, if you want that, that is”, Martin adds, when Jon looks back up and has that intense look in his eyes, Martin has still trouble figuring out.

“ _Of course_ ”, Jon tells him, voice just as intense and Martin can’t help but smile, “and I’m trying not to know things about you – and the others, I really am. Just sometimes- it’s really hard, I can’t help it all the time”

“Well, we can make a deal then if that’d help?”

“…what do you mean?”

“I- I just thought”, Martin starts, taken aback, “I just thought you could tell me when you _know_ something, so I know- but you don’t have to of course, it was just an idea”

“No- no, that’s brilliant, Martin”, Jon says, then stills when Martin’s face drops, “what? Did I say something wrong? I didn’t mean to-“

“I’m sorry, it’s stupid”, Martin has to blink several times to be sure, he won’t start crying, “that’s just about the last thing, I’d ever expect you to say to me”

“O Martin”, Jon whispers, face going soft, “I’m so, so sorry”

Martin waves him off with a determinate smile, but his blue, blue eyes betray him and Jon feels his insides shrivel up cold and hard.

“It’s fine”, Martin finally says, unconvincingly, his eyes flicking from Jon’s face to a spot just behind him.

“Look”, Jon forces himself to say, acutely aware that dropping the topic for now might be the better thing to do, for Martin’s sake - sweet Martin who had never once stopped caring and fussing about him, determinate not to let the horrors of their known and unknown surroundings squash his hope for a better tomorrow, who still is strong enough to hold onto that hope and be happy with Jon, even if it’s just for a weekend and whom he had snubbed, ridiculed, even yelled at too often to even remember every time during their first year working together. And Martin does cut him off, but of course, he doesn’t want to postpone their conversation to make things easier on himself but Jon of all people;

“We really don’t have to go into that right now”, he tells Jon, face now schooled into a firmly neutral expression, “it’s not important”

“Of course it is if it causes you pain”, Jon insists, then realizes that he might put pressure Martin into talking against his will just to make himself feel better and backpaddles, “but we don’t have to talk it through of course; I’m happy to do whatever you want, I promise”

And it’s not like pinning the decision on Martin is any better but at least he has the choice. Never mind, that Jon doesn’t want Martin not addressing topics that bother him because he’s worried about his… significant other? a thing. Heaven knows open communication is already not Jon’s strongest suit, least of all initiating it.

“Just”, Martin says quietly, hesitantly returning his gaze to Jon’s face, “can I just ask you one question?”

“Of course, whatever and how many questions you want”

“I”, Martin starts, dropping his gaze when he feels the back of his neck heat up and has to fight to urge to cover it with his hand, “I’d wager you don’t… currently hate me…?”

“I don’t”, Jon answers at once, voice firm and certain even though he’s pretty sure that that’s not what Martin had actually wanted to ask, so he inclines his head, waiting for him to go on.

“I’d just, I’d just like to know, when you stopped, what changed to make you… like me?”

“Do you want to know a really, really stupid habit I have?”

“Dodging questions?”

“Maybe”, Jon allows, “although I’m not right now – what I wanted to say is, that I do this …thing”, he stops again, trying to choose the right words to go on, while Martin fights the urge to raise an eyebrow and echo ‘…the thing, really useful that piece of information, Jon’.

“Okay?”, Martin says instead and now Jon drops his gaze, one hand coming up to tug at his own hair.

“I do this thing when I meet new people”, Jon finally tells the pillow beneath Martin’s head – they really should have moved before they had started this conversation but oh well, “where I, I guess judge would be the right word? Where I judge them by my first impression and if they… if I get off on the wrong foot with them, I won’t allow any positive thoughts about them afterwards, no matter what they do, and I won’t let anyone, never mind them, change my mind for anything”, he takes a deep breath, face now about as hot as Martin’s neck had been, “I also tend to not notice for ages when I fall in love with them because of my stupid preconceptions”, his voice becomes continuously lower, the longer he speaks and Martin actually has to bend forward and turn his head to catch the last words, “and before you ask, I don’t know why I do that either. I usually don’t even notice until someone, usually Georgie, calls me out on it and makes fun of me for three hours”

“Even before you’d started dating?”

“…we actually started dating as soon as she’d finished laughing at me”

“That sounds about right”, Martin says, silently grinning himself when Jon looks back up.

“I know, that doesn’t excuse anything, and I should never have treated you like that no matter what-“

“Jon, it’s okay, really”, Martin finally cuts him off, his breath flowing easier than it had been in… since he had met the new archivist really, “honestly? I’m just happy you… you’ve been feeling like that for some time as well and didn’t just…”

“Didn’t just tell you to make you feel better?”, Jon asks, voice incredulous and eyes once again trained on Martin’s, “of course not”

“Okay then, I’m good with that”

“Martin…”

“Look, Jon can you go back in time and change anything? Even if I told you I couldn’t get over it?”

“I couldn’t”

“You see? Seriously, as long as you don’t go back to that while we’re… really, I’m fine with that. I don’t hold a grudge against you”

“You’d have every right to do it though, and I won’t hold you to that – you can always change your mind”

“Fine”, Martin sighs, “seeing that I won’t get you to budge on that anyway. At least I already know how stubborn you can be”

“And you’re not”

It’s not a question and Jon’s voice remains flat but he immediately resolves into a fit of laughter when Martin snorts loudly.

“If it makes you feel better”, Martin then tells him, leaning his forehead against Jon’s and closing his eyes when he feels Jon’s breath flow against his cheek, “I’ll make you feel really, really bad if you try and go back to acting like that. And I’ll tell your ex-girlfriend”

“Alright”, and Jon sounds so relived, Martin can’t help himself but press his lips against his jaw, “you do that”

“I will”, Martin all but purrs into the tiny space between them, and Jon presses even closer to him, allowing his eyes to slip shut as he simply lets himself be held for a couple of minutes.

“Are we okay?”, Martin eventually asks softly, just to be sure.

“Of course”, Jon nods, “I, I would have another suggestion for the deal you were talking about though“

“I knew it”

“I’ll get a notebook and every time I _know_ something I write that down and something about me? Like when I know your favourite colour”, Jon says that part very slowly, very carefully and can’t help himself but smile when the information doesn’t come, although he then wonders, whether that’s something he should have known, “I’ll write mine down next to it?”

“Sounds good”, Martin nods, still smiling as he adds, “it’s yellow by the way”

“I should have known”, Jon says, but he’s laughing softly, “I’ll remember that”

“At a guess, I’d say yours…”, Martin purses his lips, squinting the tiniest bit behind his glasses, “is green”

Martin had planned to raise an eyebrow as he’d said it, but before he can do that, Jon is pressing his lips together in a way, he isn’t quite sure, keeps a smile or sob at bay.

“I’m kidding- Sasha told me, when we got you that stupid cup for your birthday”, he tells Jon, voice slightly high pitched and unsure.

“You still remembered”, Jon whispers, and he knows, in the classical sense of the word, that he’s being cheesy, even for his standards, but- “I- you are the sweetest man I’ve ever met and I need you to know that”

“Okay”, Martin says carefully, “noted”

And now, Jon is laughing properly in his arms, shaking against his chest, eyes screwing shut by the time Martin joins him.

They remain like this for a long time, even after their laughter has faded to nothing and Jon has buried his face in Martin’s chest again. Martin is, in fact, fairly sure Jon has dozed off and is about to follow his example, when Jon sits up with a start, face pale and eyes wide.

“What is it? Are you in pain or-“, Martin asks, hands fluttering around the other but Jon shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I have to- Georgie doesn’t know I’m…” he vocalizes his sudden realization, voice choked, “I have to-“

“Do you know her number by heart? Or can you behold it?”, Martin asks, visibly relaxing, his hands returning to Jon’s shoulders and back.

He should have known, this was bound to happen; he had after all told Jon, that Georgie too had kept visiting him at least once a week.

“I could have also looked it up in the yellow pages or something”, Jon points out, but he’s carefully sitting up and accepts Martin’s phone.

“You know, you usually manage to fool me to think you’re not actually eighty years old but then you go and say things like that”, Martin tells him, sitting up as well.

He stoops down to pick up their cups and starts towards the kitchen.

“Where are you going?”, Jon asks when Martin turns and takes his first couple of steps.

“I figured, you might want some privacy for that?”

By the time Jon ambles into the tiny kitchen, Martin has not only done the washing up from last night’s dinner and this morning’s breakfast, but has wiped down about every surface and just about finished an enormous shopping list on the yellow notepad he may or may not sometimes uses to scribble down ideas for metaphors or snippets he ended up importing into his poems while he was waiting for water to boil or dishes to cook through. He isn’t exactly shocked at how sparse his provisions actually are, at least if you counted things that weren’t instant meals or noodles, not if he actually tries to recall how often and what he’d been cooking since… 

Anyway, Martin has decided, that’s not what Jon is going to be eating as long as he stays with him. On second thought, it’s probably also not what he himself should be eating all the time so really, a trip to the shops is due.

“Hey”, he tells Jon now, puts down his pen and looks up from his list, “how’d it go?”

“Pretty good”, Jon offers, holding out Martin’s phone for him to take, “thank you”

Martin takes a good, long look at him, but Jon really looks alright, albeit still too pale and exhausted.

“Will you…?”

“I- I don’t think I should try to get anywhere close to her until”, Jon takes a deep, only slightly shaky breath, “until I, according to her ‘stop trying my darndest to end up in a grave for good’”

“So not anytime soon then?”, Martin asks, biting down on his bottom lip a moment later but Jon’s face lights up and he laughs whilst shaking his head.

“No, I’m afraid not”

“You know, I’m not that big a fan of that particular character trait of yours either”

“I know, Martin”, Jon sighs softly, taking Martin’s hand into his own and bringing it up high enough to press his lips against his knuckles, “and I’m sincerely sorry about it”

\---

“And you’re sure, you’ll be alright?”

“Contrary to common believe I have managed to be by myself for more than five minutes at a time in my life”, Jon says, arms crossed as he leans back against the doorframe leading into the living room, “and if you’re going to aim for low hanging fruit; when I got kidnapped I wasn’t, strictly speaking, on my own so that doesn’t count”

His hair isn’t quite dry yet and smells of Martin’s shampoo. Martin is also fairly sure, the collar and back of the shirt Jon had changed into after his shower are already damp where his dark curls brush against the blue jersey but Jon has yet to complain. The shirt is hanging even larger off Jon’s pointy shoulders than yesterday’s jumper and he’s just about drowning in its loos collar. He has turned up the legs of his pyjama pants several times, and still his toes are barely poking out beneath the hems – and the sight _does_ something to Martin.

“I don’t think the people doing the actual kidnapping count as company”

Jon squints at him, lips momentarily curling into a mock smile.

“Anyway. You suggested, you’d go alone and if I’m not to accompany you, but also not stay here, we’ve got a bit of a problem on our hands”

He had not even objected to Martin’s carefully worded suggestion, that it might be wiser if he went to the shops on his own, seeing that this morning’s breakfast had emptied pretty much his entire fridge and kitchen cupboards. Even the thought of climbing down two flights of stairs is enough to make Jon’s legs ache and his head pound and right now, he’d rather not imagine climbing upstairs again, or walking to the shops in the cold. 

“I- yeah, you’re right. Sorry”

“You don’t have to apologize”, Jon tells him as he pushes himself off the wall and walks over to Martin, takes his hands and brings them up to his lips, “but I’d like you to stop worrying for a bit”

“Well, that’s not gonna happen”

Martin doesn’t miss a beat and he can feel Jon’s smile against his knuckles, traces its outline with the tip of his index finger a moment later and can’t help himself but mirror it when Jon’s eyes flutter shut.

“I’m sorry”, he whispers, eyes still closed, still leaning into Martin’s touch like it’s the only thing keeping him on his feet, “just- it’s been a long time since- since anyone-”

“Been there”, Martin tells him softly, then laughs, “never left there actually”

“It seems like neither of us is going to leave this flat anytime soon either”, Jon breaths into Martin’s shoulder, when Martin hugs him and he hugs back as tightly as he can, stretching onto his tiptoes to make it easier on Martin’s back.

He’s enveloped in Martin’s laugh then and honestly, he can’t remember ever being happier than right there and then in Martin’s arms, clinging to him without an ounce of resolve to keep appearances. Not that trying to save face has done him many favours in the past.

“Sadly”, Martin finally says when he feels Jon strain to remain on his toes and gently disentangles himself from his arms, “that’s not really an option though”

Not with Jon feeling like little more than skin and bones in Martin’s embrace and the day wearing on since breakfast. He kisses Jon again once, twice, when Jon laughs and shakes his head.

“I’ll be quick”, he whispers against Jon’s lips.

“I’ll try not to get kidnapped”

“Jon!”

“I’ll be fine”, Jon hushes him when Martin continues to grumble, “I would offer to await you with tea, but I won’t do that to you”

“It’s not-“

“I know”, Jon cuts him off and gently pushes against Martin’s chest, “now get going or we’ll be here until the sun goes down”

Martin opens his mouth to reply, then changes his mind, turns and pulls on his coat.

“Like I said, you can do anything you want apart from torching my kitchen”

“Once, Martin, once I set fire to the microwave at the institute”

“Yes, and I like my new flat better than the bloody archives so please refrain from doing that here”

“I’ll do my best”, Jon tells him drily, just before Martin closes the door behind himself.

He doesn’t call after Martin that he should hurry and that he’s going to miss him. Martin doesn’t tell him that that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

When they had first started working together Jon would have done anything to spend as little time even near Martin as he could and exchange as few words with him as possible but a lot of things have changed since then and only when the sound of a car horn drifts up to Martin’s flat and jolts him out of his thoughts, does Jon notice that he could, in fact, do with Martin returning already, even if it’s just for a second because he has left the extensive shopping list behind after all.

The flat looks a lot less homely without Martin there at any rate and it’s so quiet without him- but Jon shoves that thought away. Turning his back to the door as soon as he’s secured it with its bolts, he ambles back into the living room and slumps back against the couch cushions, crossing his legs, then his arms as he stares up at the ceiling.

Unbidden images appear behind his eyes, bleeding together, one horror into the next and he squeezes his eyes shut- as if that might do anything but, unsurprisingly, it only gets worse. He feels his heartbeat speed up and his breathing grow shallow; his mouth feels dry as he tries to swallow down the panic slowly building up in his chest. After a minute or two, Jon forces his eyes open again, fingers digging into his lower arms as he hugs himself and gazes around the room again.

There’s a little blue radio on the windowsill, its antenna reflecting the sunlight streaming in through the windows and Jon is on his feet and halfway through the room a moment later. His vision swims from the sudden movement but he ignores it, even though he nearly trips and falls on his way. His fingers have not stopped trembling by the time he starts fumbling with the tiny silver buttons.

The sound quality is not exactly phenomenal, and the first song that blasts through the tiny speakers is one of the pop songs Tim had insisted on putting on during lunch times at the archives but it fills the silence and Jon’s breathing immediately becomes a little easier. It still takes some time before he manages to reason his hands into setting down the radio and dropping to his sides afterwards.

There’s a tight knot in his chest and Jon isn’t quite sure whether it’s laughter that’s coiling behind his ribs or a cry so he presses his lips together as hard as he can. The song changes and Jon finally turns his back to the windowsill and radio, hands balled to fists at his sides as he forces himself to listen, focus on the lyrics and not let his mind wander to anything else.

The chorus repeats and repeats, the next song comes on and it’s another story about another night spent out dancing and falling into someone’s arms whose name will be forgotten by dawn. Jon feels his mind drift again, strains against it, eyes flicking from the back of the couch to Martin’s half empty bookshelf, the ceiling lamp, from left to right, up down and he curses himself under his breath. It’s just- it’s-

His eyes land on the book they had left on the coffee table earlier and, without allowing himself to think about it any further, he heads towards the table, picks up the book and carries it over to the wooden bookshelf. Every shelf holds a handful of books, sorted by no system Jon can make out; there’s thrillers, true crime, still half a dozen Stephen King paperbacks, several poetry books, high fantasy, mystery, romance books all thrown together, propped against candles, the shelf’s outer wall, laid out flat- and really, it’s only logical to get all of them out and start sorting them anew. Jon isn’t quite sure how Martin would normally sort his books, by date, genre, colour? so he settles for author and sets to work.

Yesterday night he had spotted a box of disposable gloves at the bottom of the bathroom cabinet and, even though he’s fairly sure there are no hidden Leitners lurking around Martin’s flat, he doesn’t want to risk knowing right now and slips on a pair before he lifts the books down and sort them into piles on the floor.

It takes him two trips through the flat before he’s fairly certain he’s collected the rest of them. He doesn’t go as far as rifling through the boxes and even so, he ends up with a sizeable heap on the living room floor, the radio all the while playing away in the background but it’s enough.

His breathing has become laborious by the time he returns to the living room, black dots dancing in front of his eyes and he’s really, really glad he didn’t accompany Martin outside, despite everything.

Martin returns from the shops not even an hour later and the sound of the doorbell makes Jon jump as he sets down the final book and takes off his gloves. He buzzes Martin in and only barely has time to unfasten all bolts and locks before he hears Martin’s footsteps on the stairs.

“Hey”, he says as he steps outside and meets Martin just a handful of steps down the hallway.

“Hi”, Martin pants back, cheeks flushed and reddish hair sticking to his forehead beneath his woollen hat as he walks up to Jon, whose mouth becomes a little dry at the sight of Martin’s bright smile.

“Can I- here, let me”

Jon takes the bulging shopping bags from Martin and turns back towards the flat before he can protest. Almost.

“You don’t have to-“

“I can’t hear you”, Jon tells Martin over his shoulder as he heads towards the kitchen, “how many people were you planning on feeding anyway?”

“I- some of that’s actually not food”

“Oh?”

“I- and please don’t say, I didn’t have to, I got you a pair of boots too, since you can’t exactly borrow mine”

“Martin-“, Jon starts, but Martin kisses the rest of his sentence away with his cold, cold lips.

“They weren’t expensive or anything, I just hope they fit”, he tells Jon when he pulls back.

The boots emerge last from the bag Jon had unloaded, and they do have large yellow SALE-stickers stuck to their soles. They’re sleek, black ankle boots, almost like the pair Jon had worn to the unknowing and which had not made it out of the collapsed theatre. 

“Thank you”, he tells Martin as he turns the shoes over in his hands, quietly wondering how long it had taken Martin to find a pair similar to his old set, and just as quietly amazed at how much thought Martin had put into it- but really, he thought, that one should hardly be surprising at this point, “I do hope you kept the receipt though”

“Here”, Martin sighs as he hands him the crumbled slip of paper, “but you really don’t-”

“Thank you”, Jon repeats and Martin gives up.

They have just about finished putting away the groceries when the kettle starts whistling. While Martin pours steaming water into their cups and adds two bags from the new packet, Jon carefully cuts the little plastic wire that ties one shoe to the other and pulls them over his socked feet.

“Okay?”, Martin asks once he’s finished tying his laces and takes a couple of steps towards the living room and back again.

“Perfect, they’re exactly what I would have wanted”

Jon waits just long enough for Martin to set down the kettle before he walks over to him and hugs him, burying his face in Martin’s still chilly neck. 

“I just figured, you needed something else than those hospital slippers”

“Yes”, Jon pulls back, “especially since I won’t be able to get any of my things before Monday.”

“Right, your emergency set-up”

“I was actually talking about the spare key I-“, Jon has to stop and start again, talking a deep breath before daring to say the name, “Tim used to have a spare key to my flat in case of emergencies and I was hoping it might still be somewhere around the institute, provided he didn’t throw it out when I-“

“He didn’t”, Martin interrupts him, colour rising to his cheeks as he runs a hand through his hair, “he gave it to me when- I’m so, so sorry, Jon, I totally forgot about that”

“No, it’s fine. I haven’t thought about it either since…”, Jon trails off, unbidden memories squatting on either side of his words, ready to pounce and fill his head if he continued talking, “at least we know where it is, right?”

“Yeah, wait a second”

Jon is not adapt at reading faces or discerning someone’s tone of voice at the best of times, but he is fairly sure, that Martin’s comes out a little flatter than a minute ago. He’s even less sure when it comes to Martin’s expression, since Martin has turned away a moment later and started towards his bedroom. The thought of following him crosses Jon’s mind but, he figures, he can’t really help with Martin’s search and he himself usually doesn’t exactly appreciate someone breathing down his neck while he tries to find something. So, he stays in the kitchen and takes off his new boots instead, carefully sets them down next to Martin’s in the hallway when Martin returns, a simple, silver keyring with three keys of various sizes dangling from it in his hand.

“Really shouldn’t have bothered with those, I guess”, he says more to the shoes than to Jon, and he doesn’t quite look at Jon when he hands him the keys. Something cold settles in Jon’s stomach as the cool metal touches his palm.

“Well, I was short one pair of boots”, Jon tries to joke but Martin’s face remains unreadable, “Martin, are you okay? Did I-“

“No, no I’m fine”, Martin interrupts him, not sounding fine, “I’m fine, golden”

Jon just looks at him, but Martin pretends not to see, tries to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth before he changes the subject;

“Let’s get dinner ready, I’m starving, and you haven’t had anything since breakfast- well, lunch either”

This time, Martin doesn’t protest when Jon accompanies him into the kitchen and helps him prepare dinner. He barely says anything at all until they sit down with their steaming plates of spaghetti on the couch, doesn’t seem to notice the newly organized bookshelf either. And it’s not like Jon can’t talk, doesn’t drone on about whatever newest obsession he has read up on to anyone of his friends who will indulge him and listen, but he is not good at breaking silences. Even worse when it’s a silence the other person apparently doesn’t want to break. So, he sits beside Martin, eating in silence and Martin still hasn’t said a word and-

“Can I suggest something?”, Jon finally asks, fairly aware that his voice as taken on a desperate tone.

“Yes, of course”

“I, well you do seem to have something on your mind and so do I, so how about we just say it at the same time?”, he asks quietly.

He really doesn’t want to _hear_ Martin tell him to get back to his own place to his face but he also rather not overstay his welcome and-

“Yeah”, Martin agrees, exhales, then repeats, “yeah, okay, let’s do that then”

“Should… should one of us go 1, 2, 3 and then we both say it?”

“Yes”, Martin says, fighting the urge to touch Jon, pull him close and hug or kiss him with how unsure he sounds, shoulder pulled up high and hands fidgeting in his lap.

If Jon wants to go back to his own flat he gets it, of course, he’s a bit much to be around all the time and they had never spent so much time together, never mind spend any time before kissing and hugging or even touching. And he’s of course going to respect Jon’s wishes but he _had_ hoped to at least have the whole weekend and just the thought- But Jon has finished counting and Martin has agreed so he does, to his own horror, say:

“I want you to stay” without thinking it through, just as Jon says “I don’t want to leave yet”, looking just as shocked at his own words when his eyes finally do meet Martin and it takes both of them a moment to register the other’s words.

“I”, Martin says slowly, the apology for his demand still on his lips and his tongue trips over the useless words, “I don’t want you to leave either. I just thought, with the key and everything that you didn’t have to-”

“And I assumed you wanted me gone but didn’t want to say it outright”

“We are terrible at this”, Martin half sighs, half laughs and Jon joins him, finally daring to reach out for Martin’s hand again and squeeze it in his.

“At least we’re equally incompetent”, he tells Martin whose gaze remains fixed on their laced fingers, and slowly leans into him until his head comes to a rest against his shoulder.

“You know”, Martin says slowly as he wraps an arm around Jon and holds him close, “I think we should make this a thing”

“The talking past one another and silently freaking out without saying anything?”

“The talking _to_ one another part”, Martin corrects him, then adds on a whim, “and we can keep the talking at once bit too if you want. Apparently, that works better for us actually saying what we mean”

“We should at least try it”

Jon’s hair has dried at this point and it brushes against Martin’s jaw and neck when he nods.

“And just for the record”, Martin forces himself to add after a couple of minutes because if they’re talking about this right now anyway, it might do to talk a few things through, “you can, you don’t have to of course, but you can stay here with me as long as you want, not just until you’re fully recovered”

“Are you”, Jon says very slowly, trying to look up and into Martin’s eyes and almost succeeding, “Martin, are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I, I guess so”, Martin says, blinking slowly as realization dawns, “I guess that’s exactly what I’m doing”

“In that case”, Jon says and finally does pull back far enough to see Martin’s face as he continues, “yes, I would very much like to stay with you. I would also like to get my things- are you okay?”

“I just, I just need a moment”, Martin almost laughs, shaking his head, “did not expect to ask you that and especially didn’t expect you saying yes”

“But it’s okay, I said yes, right?”, Jon can’t help himself but ask and when Martin starts laughing, he joins, settling back against his chest and pressing close.

“Yes, Jon”, Martin finally manages once they have caught their breath, “it’s very okay you said yes”

“I’m glad”, and once upon a time these two words would have sounded annoyed and sarcastic but right now they’re just open and honest and sweet and Martin just has to press his lips against the top of Jon’s head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Until further notice, I have decided to post 2 chapters a week, one on thursday, one on sunday.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who comments and stay safe and healthy!
> 
> Lots of love <3
> 
> PS. I'm finished with this fic. I'll just polish it up and keep posting every week; you can look forward to a super fluffy happy end and actual resolved plot <3


	8. VIII.

The weekend passes in a very similar manner. They sleep in, have breakfast or rather brunch and spend the day watching documentaries or terribly stupid films, talk, cuddle and kiss and have entirely too many cups of tea until it’s time to cook again. Sometimes Martin reads to Jon and sometimes it’s the other way around, he even gets Jon to do a jigsaw with him at some point while they half-listened to the radio.

When darkness has finally fallen outside, they flick on the ceiling lights and only turn them off again, when they go to bed, talking until their lids grow too heavy to keep open and they doze off in each other’s arms. Jon still doesn’t dream or remember the dreams he’d visited during his coma and while his sleep is deep and easier than it has been in months, it is light enough for him to wake as soon as Martin starts whimpering or crying out in his sleep and gently wake him and hold him tight in the dark until Martin is able to breathe again.

It’s the happiest either Martin or Jon has ever been, even though Jon grows restless when there’s nothing to occupy his mind and Martin tries to distract him with anything that isn’t related to the archives. Jon tries to know things too, but he still can’t touch Elias himself, even though he can make out a vague outline whenever he focuses on their employer, which is more than he had been able to get before. His and Martin’s relationship is a different story though; he now knows for sure that neither of them are in the service of the ceaseless watcher anymore, that they are as free off the fears as they’re going to get but that doesn’t help him much when it comes to the rest of the world and what they are supposed to do in order to prevent its end. He knows, he’s still human, maybe more human than before his coma but he doesn’t know much beyond that, tries not to dismiss his luck and be grateful instead but the feeling that time is running out doesn’t go away and only grows stronger as the weekend wears on.

He tries to know about Tim and Daisy once, but he only sees darkness while dull pain erupts behind his eyes and he tries to focus on something else instead. Martin merely watches Jon silently when his eyes gloss over and he goes still whilst knowing, then hastily writes down whatever he has learned, sometimes answering whatever question he had asked out loud in the slightly flat tone of voice Martin is slowly getting used to. He only speaks up when Jon starts rubbing his eyes and temples, still trying to go on until Martin softly asks him to stop for the day.

\---

The only change to their little routines comes on Sunday when Jon goes over the list he had started the previous day one last time, folds it twice and carefully places it in the pocket of Martin’s coat. It’s sunny outside but still cool and the chill that had settled over Jon ever since he’d woken up on Thursday evening is still clinging to him. In the end, he accepts the two pairs of sweatpants, that hang off him anyway and two jumpers beneath the thick coat Martin pushes into his hands quietly grumbling and immediately regrets haggling Martin down to three layers when they step outside and the wind cuts straight through him.

The statement giver who had been able to see death lines had been right when he had described the end as pitilessly cold and Jon was quietly wondering whether he would ever really get rid of its icy touch. His train of thought is interrupted however by a black cab spotting Martin’s wave and pulling up in front of them.

It’s a waste of money but neither Jon nor Martin can muster up enough faith in Jon managing to walk all the way to his own flat and Jon knows for a fact that the Institute kept paying him during his coma. He figures that, without any major expenses on his part for almost two months, apart from the rent for his own flat, he can afford two taxi rides. Even Martin had had to agree with that when Jon had told him that he would pay him back for that day’s taxi bills. 

Jon hasn’t mentioned the bonus and raise Elias had, probably expecting different turnout, given him before he had been incarcerated yet. He will, once he has figured out how to feel about it himself and, in the meantime quietly delights in planning what to spend it on that will make Elias rotate in his cell. Probably matching blindfolds for Martin and him but that might come out wrong.

Two minutes into the ride the taxi driver asks whether she should turn up the heating when Jon’s teeth continue chattering over the sound of the radio. Martin tells her ‘yes, please’ before Jon has finished going red and squeezes his hand while the cold, empty outside word flies past their windows.

Jon’s flat is located on the fifth floor of a nondescript tenement building and Martin is momentarily worried about the stairs, but Jon leads him past the staircase to a tiny elevator.

“It’s ridiculously slow”, he tells Martin once he has pressed a silver button and nothing happens for a couple of seconds. His gaze drifts past the elevator doors toward the wall where the tenants’ letterboxes are hung in neat rows, “I usually don’t bother and just opt for the stairs…”

Jon’s voice trails off when he notices a sticker on his letterbox that had not been there the last time he’d checked it and he starts towards it. As he gets closer, he can make out the words.

“What is it?”

“Just”, Jon tells Martin while he unlocks and opens the letterbox with the smallest key on his ring, and finds it, unsurprisingly, filled to the brim, “Mrs Foster has taken to collect the rest of my mail when it started overflowing after-“

The ding of the elevator cuts him off and Jon hugs the letters and flyers to his chest while he joins Martin in the tiny cage and presses the button to the second floor.

“So we’ll stop by her first?”

“Well, she and her wife usually are in on Sundays and I don’t want my things to take up space for longer than necessary”, Jon shrugs, stuffing the envelops into the pockets of his borrowed coat, “and before you ask, I didn’t know-know that; they sometimes invited me over for tea and tried to feed me up with macaroons”

“I thought you hated coconut”

“And neither you nor I am ever going to tell them that”, Jon tells Martin seriously when the doors slide open and steps out into a brightly lit hallway and towards a light brown front door before Martin can ask whether he should follow or stay back, and knocks. 

The door opens to reveal a happy, red-faced woman with a loose grey bun who stands a little taller than Jon and looks like someone had just cut her out of a children’s book. Jon doesn’t even get out his hello before he’s pulled into a tight hug and ushered into the flat.

Martin has just about the decided, that he’s just going to wait with the elevator when he hears Jon calling for him and slowly follows him inside. He tries, he really tries not to laugh when he sees Jon first being appraised from what he takes to be Mrs and Mrs Foster who both tell him that he’s way too thin and that it’s been such a long time since they had had him over for tea then being sat down on the frilliest couch Martin has ever seen.

“And who’s your friend, dear?”, the second, taller woman nods towards Martin and her short curls bounce when she moves her head.

“Martin”, Jon tells her with bright smile, “but we really don’t want to bother you too-“

“Nonsense”, the women who had let them in walks over to Martin and offers him her hand, “I’m Virginia, this beautiful woman is Belinda and you two are the furthest thing from a bother. What would you say to a nice cup of tea and a slice of cake?”

Their handshake transforms into Martin being tugged over to the couch and sat down beside Jon before he can answer.

“I’m sorry, I had the faintest hope of merely collecting my mail”, he whispers while their apparent hostesses busy themselves in the kitchen, “but it is easier just to just say yes instead of trying to leave”

“I gathered as much”, Martin whispers back, “but it’s not like we’re having a busy day ahead of us”

“Mrs-“, Jon starts when the two women return, one carrying a tray laden with delicate, cream coloured tea service, the other half a chocolate cake on a heavy plate.

“Dear, for the hundredth time, it’s Virginia”, Virginia cuts him off while her wife goes to collect plates and cutlery, “sometimes I think, he’ll never learn”, she confides to Martin who laughs as he nods.

“I know that feeling”

“ _Anyway_ ”, Jon mutters, ignoring them, “I, I saw your note on my letter box and wanted to thank you for taking in my letters. Again.“

“We just wanted to make sure nothing gets lost”, Virginia shrugs, then reaches out and pats Jon’s left hand, “although, and I do hope you don’t mind me saying, we were getting a bit worried about you, Jon, with you vanishing for such a long time. Was it another business trip?”

“I”, Jon starts but trails off when Belinda returns and lays the little coffee table, “I had a bit of an accident”, he finally says, casting down his eyes towards the steaming teacups, “had to stay at the hospital for a bit before they let me leave”, he clears his throat quietly, then forces himself to look at the two women in front of him and smile, “but I’m better now. Good as new”

“If you say so, dear”, Belinda says gently, exchanging a look with her wife, before she passes him a truly enormous slice of cake, “we are very happy to see you again, and to meet you, Martin”, she adds, looking from one to the other.

“Will you have to go back to the hospital or come back home now?”

 _Home_ , Martin thinks with a dry mouth but doesn’t say anything. _That’s a lot harder to come by than renting a nice flat. But_ , and now he’s looking at Jon next to him, _maybe not impossible_.

“I don’t know yet if I’ll move back in permanently”, Jon answers after a short pause, “I mainly came here today to get a few of my things. I didn’t even think about my mail until now to be honest”

“Understandable”, Virginia nods over the rim of her teacup, then motions for Jon and Martin to start with their tea and cake, “I will get it after you have finished your tea if that’s alright”

“Of course,” Jon nods, carefully lifting the cup of its saucer and lifting it to his mouth, before he repeats, “thank you”

He can tell that they’re still worried about him and probably curious about Martin, but Belinda stirs the conversation towards how cold it has been getting lately and that she hasn’t had any luck coming across a decent thriller in ages and Virginia tells them about their honeymoon in Italy and what a pain it had been to transport the entire service back to England in one piece.

It is by far the cosiest noon Martin has had in months, not counting Friday and Saturday and they leave Belinda and Virginia with a paper bag full of Jon’s mail, the rest of the cake they had been given and the promise to come visit again soon.

“That was nice”, Martin says carefully when they return to the elevator and press the little button that says 5, “they care about you a lot”

“They’re very sweet”, Jon agrees, “although they are usually a bit nosier”

“I think it’s nice that you have people who care about you”

“It is”

They only stop kissing when the elevator doors part for the third time and they step outside.

“When was the last time you were here?”, Martin asks while Jon unlocks the front door.

“The day before Elias showed us the recording, but I didn’t stay very long”

“Figured”, Martin says, still blinking his eyes in the sudden brightness after Jon had switched on the ceiling lights.

The keys jangle and clink when Jon pockets them and closes the door behind himself.

“I”, he starts awkwardly, hand on the back of his neck while Martin’s eyes dart around the room, “I would offer you something to eat or drink but I’m fairly confident that my kitchen’s empty”

It had been a long time since he’d last cooked here, cooked by himself at all, almost as long as it’s been since he had last slept in his own bed.

“I think it would be better for us to actually start packing your things instead of having continuous tea parties”

“Maybe”, Jon snorts softly, before he starts towards his bedroom, “but I don’t have all that much to pack, I think”

Martin hums noncommittally as he follows, still looking about himself. He had sometimes thought about what Jon’s flat might look like and while this is not exactly what he’d been picturing, it’s not that far off either. The front door opens directly into a tiny living room that is filled with a sleep couch, a table, two chairs and ceiling high, neatly organized, albeit slightly sparse shelves.

“You have cardboard boxes?”, Martin asks when Jon slides to his knees in front of his bed and tugs the folded moving cartons out from beneath it.

“Well, I didn’t want to throw them out after I moved just to have to get new ones the next time I moved and there’s hardly enough space beneath my bed to really store anything else there anyway”, Jon shrugs, still on the floor.

“Of course”

In the end Martin isn’t quite sure whether he should be surprised or not when Jon is right and manages to pack his entire wardrobe and personal belongings into two boxes.

“And you’re sure, this is everything?”, Martin asks, trying to sound as neutral as he can.

“This is basically everything I moved in with? Minus the things I left at the institute. I got this flat cheaper since I took it fully furnished and promised not to throw anything out. Apparently, no one wanted it like that, and I didn’t really have a lot of things when I moved in in the first place”

“Well…”, Martin trails off, thinking about the lumpy, pea-green couch, broken stereo, mismatched wonky chairs and shelves in the living room and the ancient kitchenette. There’s a lot less books than Martin would have imagined, given how much Jon reads even outside of work.

Apart from a thin sheen of dust the entire flat was spotless and so tidy Martin is almost sure, Jon had not spent a minute more than he had to in the living room ever since he had moved in or even touched the things that had come with the flat except to arrange them onto shelves and push them against the walls and as far away from him as possible. The bedroom is slightly better, but probably only because it literally holds nothing than a bed, a simple bedside table and closet. There’s barely enough room for Jon, Martin and the two boxes, so it makes sense, that Jon didn’t buy any additional furniture he didn’t have room for.

Also, Martin guesses, Jon had probably never planned on spending any more time at home than necessary if his work ethic as the head archivist in the beginning was anything to go by and it makes Martin sadder than it should, looking down at two boxes of clothes, personal belongings and important documents Jon puts into a large folder and slid into the satchel that had hung from a hook at the back of his bedroom door.

Martin really shouldn’t be one to talk with half of his things still unpacked at home but still. He quietly vows to finally adapt the flat and properly decorate when things calm down a bit. They could do that together as soon as Jon was feeling well again, really make the flat theirs, not just Martin’s although Jon doesn’t seem to mind either way. Taking his former living situation into account however, that doesn’t really say much, and Martin doesn’t lose much time to order them a cab that is willing to transport them as well as two moving cartons.

He tries his best to forget the half-baked plans he’d made with Tim shortly after Prentiss had attacked and he had found his new flat, tries to tell himself that properly getting settled without Tim there to help like they’d planned isn’t betrayal but only logical. That he had had plans on his own but everything had just gotten in the way, and that it had not felt better to live out of boxes and completely loose oversight over his belongings than admitting to himself, that there would be no one to work alongside and share the space with at least sometimes. He almost manages.

“You seem happy”, Martin tells Jon quietly over the box in his, arms when they leave the building a short while later, and walk towards the waiting taxi.

“Just glad to finally go _home_ ”, Jon tells him just as quietly and Martin’s heart swells so much, it almost hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rather short update.
> 
> Next week, we'll the plot rolling - hurray.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and your lovely comments!
> 
> Lots of love <3


	9. IX.

On Monday morning Martin’s alarm clock goes off at six o'clock sharp and both of them regret for just a moment that Jon had managed to talk Martin into arriving at the institute on time. The fact that this was already much later than Jon had usually gotten up to ensure he would be at work an hour before everyone else and get the most important things done undisturbed, does not help.

They hit a bit of a hiccup when Martin pours two cups of tea and Jon steps up next to him, hair neatly tied back into a single plait.

“Are you okay?”, Jon asks when Martin almost drops the kettle once their cups are filled and takes it out of his hands.

“We did go to your place yesterday and got your things, didn’t we?”

“Yes”, Jon tells him with a raised eyebrow, drawing out the ‘s’ as Martin sets the kettle down, never taking his eyes of his boyfriend, “Why?”

Because Jon is wearing about the ugliest sweater Martin had almost forgotten he owned after he’d stuffed it towards the very back of his closet and pointedly ignored it whenever he looked for a shirt. It’s somewhere between a muddy green and strange sort of grey and has a huge pocket on the front. It is decidedly not the colour the website had described as ‘jade’ although it is very soft, Martin has do admit that, which is probably the main reason Jon had excavated it in the first place.

“Nothing”, Martin says innocently, then adds, “those are my socks”

“Only the outer ones. What? The archives are always freezing and I don’t want to be cold all day”

“As long as your feet still fit in your boots”, Martin allows, not even trying to stifle his grin anymore. Yesterday their discussion had gone down a little differently but he’s pleased enough that Jon, for once in his life, actually made a point of trying to be comfortable.

“They do”, Jon tells him as he picks up his mug, voice miffed, “very well if you want to know”

“If you say so”

Martin is still quietly chuckling when he follows Jon into the living room with his own mug and the plate of toast.

\---

“And you’re sure, you’re ready to go back?”

“Not entirely”, Jon shrugs, burying just a bit deeper into his coat and scarf, his breath still a bit harder than it should be after the short walk from the train station, “but it’s a bit late to turn back now, isn’t it?”

“Well, we wouldn’t have to _tell_ anyone”, Martin points out as he opens the door to the Magnus Institute and lets Jon pass first, squeezing his hand a bit tighter in his, “we could just go back home and sleep a bit more”

“Don’t tempt me”

The lobby is empty this early in the morning and their footsteps echo loudly on the polished stone floor.

“You are going to tell me if it gets too much for you though? We can always leave”

“I know”, Jon stops a couple of steps away from the stairs leading down into the archives, gets onto his tiptoes and pecks his boyfriend’s cheek, “I will”

“Okay then”, Martin sighs and they start towards the stairs, “let’s get it over with”

The archives have always been chillier than the rest of the building but as they descend, the lower floors’ cool breath washes over them and Jon is glad about his extra layers and Martin’s warm hand in his.

They had discussed whether they should tell the others about their relationship already, but, Martin had pointed out hesitantly, explaining everything else would be a tad complicated without it and Basira and Melanie would probably not appreciate any half-truths about how exactly Jon got back without turning into something else. And he had had to agree with Jon that going back to work and trying to somehow not let the world end itself would already be bad enough without the comfort of each other’s company.

“How long has Helen been here?”, Jon asks when they walk down the long, bleak corridor towards their offices and pass a yellow door that should not be there.

“A bit. She’s not always there though”

“Probably didn’t exactly explain why she was there either?”

“According to her, she wants to ‘help’, but she’s a bit vague about whom and how and why”

“The spiral being vague, and here I was I’d never see the day”

Martin’s laugh echoes of the grey walls and the sound just seems so utterly out of place after weeks and weeks of just quietly trudging through work and trying not to lose his mind out of sheer hopelessness and misery.

“We can go visit her later if you want. She’s probably looking forward to seeing you”

“I honestly don’t know how to feel about that”, Jon says, slowly shaking his head when they come to a hold in front of the door labelled ‘Archives’, “after you”

Martin doesn’t have to ask to know whether the others are in yet, not with how tense Jon’s shoulders are and the fact that all of them had taken to arrive as early at work as possible and leave while the sun is still mostly up.

“Morning”, he calls softly, as he does every morning when he opens and steps through the door, Jon on his heels, and if either Basira or Melanie note how much more cheerful he sounds today, they don’t mention it.

Both of them already have books and notes spread out in front of them, jackets still zipped up to their chins the way they will probably remain for the rest of the day until they leave. They barely look up from their respective screens as they echo his greeting and Jon feels a pang of guilt at how haggard both of them look, skin pallid and grey, eyes already bloodshot.

“You better now?”, Basira asks, just before she finishes typing her last sentence and finally looks up, “must have been-“

The rest of her sentence dies on her lips when she sees Jon next to him. She’s on her feet and halfway through the room before either Jon nor Martin has time to say anything and she’s pulling Jon into a tight hug before he has decided whether to shrink back or not.

“I missed you too”, he tells her softly when he hugs her back and some of the tensions seeps out of his muscles.

The sound of Jon’s voice makes Melanie look up as well and by the time Basira pulls back, she almost knocks Jon of his feet with the semi-gentle push against his shoulder he adds to her hug.

“Don’t you ever scare us like that again”, she tells Jon in exactly the same tone she had called him a pompous idiot with during their first meeting, “you hear me?”

“Loud and clear”, Jon nods seriously and smiles hesitantly when the others laugh.

“Look”, Basira finally says, sobering up, “I’m not a hundred percent sure I want to know, but how. It’s been weeks and we, well, we were all pretty sure we’d never see you again”

“I”, Jon starts, reaching into his pocket and tacking out three sheets of paper he’d folded in half, and hands them to Basira, “It’s kind of a lot and I thought, it would be easier to write it down than trying to tell it to you”

“Logically”, Basira tells him but she unfolds the pages, leans back against the nearest desk and, holding the sheets so Melanie can read along, starts reading.

Half a page in she looks up, opening his mouth but Martin shakes his head;

“Just read on, it’ll be easier to talk it through once you know everything”

Shaking her head, and muttering a quiet “damn”, she goes on, handing Melanie the page when she’s finished earlier and starts with the second.

“So”, Basira says, once she and Melanie are through, “so to recap: for almost two months your fear-god had you spying on peoples’ dreams, feed off their fear, then you put on your best sleeping beauty impression with Martin and in passing switched from serving the embodiment of fear and terror to…”, she trails of, raising an eyebrow and Jon wills his face not to heat up as he finishes her sentence.

“to serving love, yes”

“And you’re also, handily, still human but also kept you whole omniscience thing”

Doubt has drawn hard lines on Basira’s face and she purses her lips just the tiniest bit as she looks from Martin to Jon, who too as taken to lean back against the doorframe, face still pale and shoulders tense.

“Look, Basira”, he sighs, before Martin can say anything, “I don’t have any ‘hard proof’ and I can’t make you believe me. If you want to know for sure-“

“Convenient”, Melanie now says and honestly, Jon can’t blame them.

He just wishes, he wouldn’t have to do the next part.

“Well, I’ve never lied to any of you about anything important”, he points out, fighting the urge to wrap his arms around himself in an ineffective attempt to keep warm, “but I know, that I can’t prove that to be true either. What I do know for a fact however is, that you can tell when someone’s lying Basira, as can Martin”

“I can what now?”, Martin asks, just as Basira scoffs.

“Jon-“

“What about me?”, Melanie asks, effectively cutting the conversation short, “I’ve worked here longer than Basira”

“I… I would have to _know_ , to answer that, Melanie, purposefully. I didn’t try to with-“

“Are you asking for permission?”, Melanie half-scoffs.

“Yes? I really try not to-”

“Okay, do that then”

Melanie holds his gaze until Jon closes his eyes and concentrates. His pupils are blown wide when he looks at her again, mouth opening in shock.

“What?”

Now she’s actually scoffing, arms crossed in front of her stomach.

“You”, he starts, then swallows audibly and Melanie rolls her eyes, “your primary entity’s the slaughter, not the eye”

“I- what?”

“Jon…”, Martin starts quietly but Jon ignores him, holding Melanie’s gaze.

“The bullet in your leg, it’s- it’s-“

“Spit it out Jon”, Melanie tells him, in a tight sort of voice that’s a lot more intimidating than if she had yelled it.

“It’s infecting you with the slaughter. Your leg is literally starting to rot, that’s why you’re in pain all the time and why you’ve become more aggressive- and that’s not my opinion, just the answer to the question you never quite dare to ask yourself”

“And even if, and that’s a huge if, Sims, but if I believed you, what would you suggest I do about it? According to literally everybody else, there’s nothing in my leg, never was”

“I’d suggest, you try and find a sectioned, if that’s the term, doctor and ask-“

“I tried that; they can’t find anything, not even an entry wound”

“It’s- may I point at it? I promise I won’t touch you”

“Knock yourself out but I’m not stripping for-“

“That would kind of defy the point, wouldn’t it?”, Jon interrupts her, then does as he’d said and steps closer to her.

“It’s here”, he tells her, fingertips hovering just a bit above her tibia, “and don’t tell me I cheated because you never told anyone- you never told anyone here where exactly you were shot.”

“You do realize that things like that don’t exactly scream regular human being”, Basira points out softly when Melanie doesn’t say anything.

“I never said I was regular”, Jon retorts, almost managing to quirk a smile while Basira shakes her head and Martin rolls his eyes fondly, “but that’s why Melanie doesn’t have any powers of the ceaseless watcher”

“Opposed to me and Martin. Allegedly”

“You know, if I’m not allowed to lie, neither are you”

“I’m not-“

“You’re closing your eyes to the truth then. You _know_ , I’m telling the truth, you’re just refusing to admit it”

“I’m not-“

“Oh, just test it then”, Jon finally snaps, straightening up again, “all of us say three things and you and Martin decide what’s true and what’s false – I’ll know what’s what so we can reexamine it. It doesn’t have to be anything personal of course, just something neither Basira nor Martin knows”, he adds once he has slumped back into the nearest chair, closing his eyes.

“Fine”, Basira says before anyone can protest and too crosses her arms in front of her stomach, “I’ll go first: I love rainy days, I’ve never had a broken bone, I hate shanties”

“Martin?”, Jon says softly, eyes still closed.

“I really don’t- I don’t see the point of this, I trust you not to lie to us and-“

“Get on with it”, Basira tells him, although her voice is softer than it could be.

“False, true, false”, Martin says after a short pause, then walks over to Jon and rests a hand on his bony shoulder.

“Impressive”, she admits, nodding her head, then turns to Jon, “your turn, something you haven’t told Martin yet”

“I like carousels, I have my mother’s eyes, I can play the mouthorgan”

“True”, Basira says, looking at Martin, who nods and keeps nodding as she goes on, “false, true”

“Full marks”

“Fine”, Melanie sighs, “I hate cats, I used to be vegan, I like zombie flicks”

“All wrong”, Martin says at once, Basira agrees.

“I… I”, Martin starts, looking down at the floor, “my favorite animals are dolphins, the smell of lavender makes me nauseous, I once dyed my hair black”

“Wrong, wrong, true”

“You got everything right”, Jon announces, “and you know, you weren’t just lucky. You have to concentrate and you don’t know any details but it feels off when someone is outright lying to you. And now”, he pauses, locking eyes with Basira, “am. I. lying to you? As far as I can tell, I’m still human, I no longer serve the eye, I’m not trying to double-cross you and I swear I will try my best to make Elias pay and get all of us out of here. I also really, really love Martin Blackwood and would do literally anything for him”

“You’re not lying”, Basira sighs, “at least not knowingly and that’s really what matters. We can work with that”

“Thank you”

“It’s really good to have you back, despite… everything really but now we at least stand a chance against Elias”

“Have you heard anything from him since…”, Jon trails off, allowing himself to untense as the others relax around him.

“He keeps trying to get me to work with him”, Basira volunteers, “keeps ‘inviting’ me to the prison whenever we have an especially bad day here and offers information he knows we need”

“I thought, you stopped going”, Melanie doesn’t quite ask when she hobbles back to her own chair and sits down with a grimace.

“I started again when… when we kept getting nowhere. I’m not going to work with him but… at least seeing him reminds me why we need to get all of this sorted. He doesn’t even try and be subtle anymore about bribing me with information about… well, next time is probably going to be fun when he tries and pretend, he doesn’t know Jon’s back”

Martin is about to ask something when the phone on his desk starts ringing. Exchanging a vary look with the others he walks over to it and picks up, biting down on his bottom lip as he listens.

“I’ll be right up”, he finally says and sets down the phone and closes his eyes.

“Lukas?”, Melanie asks and Martin nods.

“Probably wasn’t happy I called in sick for Friday”

“Yeah, but he’s never happy so that probably wasn’t that much of a change to his routine”, Melanie points out.

“Would you like me to accompany you?”, Jon asks and Martin can’t help himself but smile.

Neither he nor Jon catch the look Melanie and Basira exchange.

“He wants to talk to you too, actually”

“Then I guess, we’ll be right back”

\---

All in all, Jon’s first day back goes down pretty uneventfully. He comes face to face with Peter Lukas who seems more preoccupied and annoyed at Martin for refusing his offer than anything else and dismisses Jon after only a couple of minutes, filled with refreshingly little ominous murmuring and thinly veiled threats. Not free of them, but compared to Elias, it’s almost pleasant - in a cold, impersonal sort of way.

When he and Martin return to the archives, Martin goes to make tea for everyone while Basira and Melanie sit Jon down and show him what fruits the last weeks of research had yielded- which honestly isn’t a lot; for every important piece of information they had come across, they had had to discard about twenty other books and statements that didn’t help at all.

“And what are your plans for all of this?”, Basira finally asks, encompassing the whole of the archives in one sweeping gesture.

“I’m not entirely sure yet, to tell you the truth. I, I will probably try and know as much about any upcoming rituals and Elias’ plans as I can and do research but”, he lowers his gaze, “I don’t think we should continue blindly reading and recording statements”

“Can you even get by without them anymore?”, Melanie asks, the first thing she has said in a while and even now she sounds distracted, “because I won’t cry about not having to slog through those anymore and have a few nightmares less but…”

“I haven’t… _had_ any statements since I got back”, Jon says quietly, still not looking up, “and I don’t want to start again. I’m- honestly? I’m afraid I’ll get pulled right back where I was once I start recording them again, I’m sorry”

“You”, Basira sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose and exhales loudly before she goes on, “you don’t have to be sorry, Jon. We all appreciate you not turning into an omniscient all seeing avatar and it’s good you’re not longer… relying on them. Just- just what else are you going to do? What are we going to do if we’re no longer working with statements?”

“I’m not sure yet, Basira. The only thing I know is, that every statement we spend time on feeds the eye and binds whoever is working on it more tightly to it. You and Martin are already pretty far along in that progress. I don’t think we can get by without any statements at all but we should choose carefully which ones we’ll take. Elias used to have a box full of important ones in his office, maybe we can get our hands on those and I thought, I’d try and know which ones are useful and whether any more of Gertrude’s notes are left but apart from that I’m afraid it’s books and online research as far as that’s going to get us”, Jon almost whispers the last part, mouth dry and hands balling into fists in the pockets of his coat. He closes his eyes before he adds, “but that’s only what I thought might work, we don’t have to do it like that of course. I just…”

The others exchange a look when Jon keeps his gaze fixed on the notepad in front of him, jaw tight.

“Where did that come from?”, Basira finally asks, reaching out and slowly placing a hand on Jon’s forearm after a moment of hesitation.

“It’s not like I’m not as in over my head as the rest of you, probably more if we’re being honest. And aren’t you getting tired of me pretending I know what I’m doing and am in any position to call the shots?”

“I- I honestly don’t know how to answer that just now”, Basira tells him, voice so bewildered it almost bleeds into a laugh.

She doesn’t add that she had been, if she was being completely honest with herself, hoping for someone else who knew what they were doing to take over from her. It didn’t necessarily have to be Jon but… at least she would have had _one_ thing off her back.

“Okay”, Martin finally says, slipping one hand into Jon’s pocket and linking their fingers, “more normal research and trying to get more of Gertrude’s notes then. It’s worth a shot and even if we run into a wall with that, I don’t think we have anything to lose if we try at least it. It’s not exactly like we’ve made any real progress this far anyway.”

“Just one more thing”, Melanie says and now her voice comes out clear and resolute, “I need you to try and get that thing out of my leg”

“You- you what?”, Jon asks, head snapping up to meet Melanie’s eyes.

“You heard me. I- you were right”, she just about gets out the last word and if Jon didn’t currently have mild trouble trying to keep his mouth from falling open, he might laugh or be offended, “it all makes sense and I- I can feel myself slipping away, have been feeling that way for some time and after everything, I don’t think it makes sense trying to ignore it and letting it get worse. And”, she sighs, closing her eyes for a moment before she looks back at Jon who’s still starring at her, “you’re probably my best shot. Worst case, you fuck up so badly I either loose the leg entirely or die, both better solutions than letting myself be consumed by the slaughter”

“But I don’t-“

“Are you seriously telling me, you can’t know yourself through digging a ghost bullet out of my leg? Also”, she adds, face set, “you owe me one”

“Melanie”, Martin starts, trying to be and sound reasonable while his boyfriend looks like he might pass out just from being told to operate on her, “I really-“

“I- thank you, Martin”, Jon squeezes his hand in his own, trying to force his lips into something that vaguely resembles a smile, “but she’s right I- I can try? But I won’t do it today without at least trying to…prepare” and hope you change your mind because I seriously do not want to do this.

“Fine. But I won’t give you more than till the end of the week”

“Come on”, Martin now tries, voice pitching higher, “this is crazy, Melanie. Jon can’t-“

“I don’t care if he can”, Melanie cuts him off, voice tight and low, “this is my best chance, all of yours too probably. I already feel it- Look, if we wait much longer, I’m not sure, I’ll want this thing out anymore, I’m already… I’m already kind of used to always being on edge, it’s so hard to- you know what? I don’t have to justify myself to you. Either do it, or not, just tell my by the end of the week”

“I”, Jon says softly, “I will”

He doesn’t specify what part he means and Melanie doesn’t press it. Instead all four of them sit in silence around Basira’s desk for a couple of minutes before Martin clears his throat.

“So…what do we do now- I mean like now now, the rest of the day”

“I got a lead on the People’s Church”, Melanie shrugs, then gets up and returns to her desk.

“I still got a couple of books to go through”, Martin says but hesitates to leave just yet, “are you okay though? You don’t have to-“

“I’m fine, Martin”, Jon cuts him off with a soft smile, “like I said; I’d tell you if something was wrong. I- I would like to talk to you, Basira though before I get back to work, if that’s okay”

“I don’t mind”, Basira tells him, gazing up at Martin with a raised eyebrow.

“Alright but take it slow, okay?”, Martin sighs and too returns to his desk.

“What did you wanna talk about?”, Basira asks as soon as they’re more or less alone.

“I”, Jon starts, then cuts himself off with a sigh and presses his knuckles against his eyes, “I just, I guess I just wanted to say sorry”

“What for specifically?”, Basira presses on, although her voice remains almost painfully casual.

“The unknowing, Daisy… everything really. I still don’t remember everything but I know that that things went off the rails pretty soon after we went in and I- I’m sorry she’s gone if I could-“

“You can’t”, Basira cuts him off, “look, I was there, I know no one could really do anything but that doesn’t- I, I don’t blame you, much more than I blame myself and no matter what we do, it won’t get either her or Tim back, so let’s just… let’s just deal with the end of the world and Elias’ little schemes first, okay? I can’t do the other thing right now”

Basira’s voice trembles the tiniest bit and she has to concentrate on keeping her breathing even, fingers turning white with how tightly she’s clutching them together.

“You’re probably right. I just needed to- I’ll try to figure out what’s going on. Make myself useful”

“Good idea”, Basira turns away from Jon and back to her screen, “best thing all of us can do right now”

“Probably”, Jon whispers as he gets up and heads for his office, although not before stopping by Martin’s desk and taking his hand into his own.

“The tea was lovely”, he quietly tells the back of Martin’s hand, just before he presses his lips against his knuckles.

“Thanks”, Martin mumbles, cheeks already pink when he gazes up at Jon through his lashes and his blush only deepens when Melanie tosses an notepad onto his desk whose first page reads ‘We get it’.

\---

The sun is still up by the time they return home. Despite managing to get through the whole day relatively easily, the short walk from the train station to their front door just about brings Jon to his knees and he drags his feet heavily on the last meters.

“Could you take my bag for a second?”, Martin asks him innocently as soon as they’re inside and at the foot of the stairs.

The fact that Jon merely takes it without nodding or even saying a word as he stands there, hands on his knees, quietly swaying from side to side just strengthens his boyfriend’s resolve, as does the fact that Jon barely protests at all when Martin scoops him up in his arms and carries him up the stairs.

“I’m too- you don’t have to do that”, Jon says weakly when Martin sets him down again and goes about unlocking the five billion locks.

“Debatable”, is all Martin says, pushing open the door and ushering Jon through, “are you hungry?”

“Yes, but…”

“But…?- Hey, hey, sit down, okay?”, Martin adds when Jon falters again, just about managing to regain his balance before he falls.

“Thank you”, Jon whispers once Martin has stirred him over to the couch and gently pushed down.

“Lay down, Jon”

“No, I-“, Jon starts but the sentence slips away from him and before he even knows it, Martin has eased him back against the cushions and started untying his laces, “I wanted to help you-“

“Jon”, Martin tells him very seriously, stroking back his boyfriend’s grey-black hair that, until a couple of hours ago, had been neatly tied back but now has come undone and frames his pale face in loose curls, “it’s been four days, you still need to take it easy, okay? I’ll manage just fine and as soon you’re back at full strength, I’ll be happy to split chores with you, what do you say?”

“I suppose you’re right”, Jon sighs, squeezing his eyes shut and closing his fingers tight around the hem of the soft green jumper, “I’m sorry”

“Why don’t you try and doze a bit before dinner?”, Martin ignores the last bit and presses his lips against Jon’s forehead before he heads over to the kitchen.

When he returns to the living with two steaming bowls of risotto, he finds Jon curled up into a ball and fast asleep. Instead of waking him, Martin turns around, places their food in the oven and turns it up to keep warm while he takes a shower, taking his time. By the time he reenters the living room, Jon’s eyes are open and he’s sitting up when he sees his boyfriend.

“Hi”, he yawns at Martin, rubbing his eyes.

“Better?”

“Very much so”

Jon stretches his arms over his head and the sleeves of his jumper slide down, bunching around his upper arms and elbows.

“I’m not going to say I told you so”, Martin tells him when he enters the living room a third time and finally sets down the dishes.

“I’m afraid that would be getting tiring for you sooner rather than later”

Jon leans into Martin as soon as he sits down next to him and kisses his cheek.

“You know, it’s really hard to reply something to that”, Martin points out as pushes one bowl into Jon’s hands, then takes his own.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience” but Jon is quietly grinning when Martin turns to look at him and rolls his eyes at the sight.

“Just eat, please”

He pretends he doesn’t melt the tiniest bit when Jon catches his eye and full on grins at him over a steaming spoonful of rice.

Once their food is gone, Jon gently tugs on Martin’s shoulder until he gets the hint and lies down, head coming to a rest on Jon’s lap. Martin pulls up his knees and plants his feet against the cushions when Jon starts running his fingers through his red blonde curls.

“Okay?”, he asks in a soft voice and Martin merely nods, or tries to in his position.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course”

“Did, did Peter say anything to you? He barely let me finish telling him that I wouldn’t take him up on his offer before he kicked me out”

“He was mostly just muttering about Elias”

“Yeah, but he does that a lot”

“Not really surprising if you ask me”

“What, one miserable avatar who enjoys ruining other people’s lives being kind of obsessed with another one?”

“Well, they’ve been having a miserable on-off-thing going for almost twenty years now”

“You’re kidding”

“Afraid not”

“…I’m honestly not sure whether I’m surprised”

“Next time you have to make awkward small talk with him, you can bring that up”

“I guess. It’s not like we can get fired, is it?”

“Not really”

“Are you okay with going back tomorrow? And don’t say you have to be because you can just as easily know things from home”

“I’ll be fine, Martin. To be honest, I’d rather go to work and take a break from time to time than…”

“Than what?”

“Than staying all by myself all day”, Jon mutters, starring down at his boyfriend’s hair rather than his face when Martin looks up at him.

“You’re sweet”

“I’m glad you see it like that”

Martin reaches up and touches Jon’s cheek with the tips of his fingers, brushing the soft skin and pale marks trailing up on either side of Jon’s face and bleeding into his hairline.

“I also wonder what exactly I’m going to do with Melanie”

“Jon…”

“I’m not even sure whether we can acquire any kind of anesthesia and I don’t want to _hurt_ her-“

“Jon, you realize, you can tell her no”

“I can’t. She wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for me”

“It was her decision- oh, why am I even trying?”, Martin cuts himself off.

“I’m not entirely sure either”

“Maybe just try and talk to her anyway? Just to be sure. Maybe she’s changed her mind by the time you see her again”

“I desperately hope so”

“I could ask you how one removes a bullet form a person’s leg if you want”

“I’m afraid that’s what it’s going to boil down to”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I admit, I probably overcompensated on how well they would get along, but then again, we're disrespecting canon anyway.
> 
> Until Sunday! Stay safe friends <3


	10. X.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note ahead: this chapter ends on a slight cliffhanger. The following three chapters (XI, XII and XII) will deal with the plotline alluded to at the end of this chaper. If you dislike semi-open-ended chapters, you might want to wait until Chapter XII is up.
> 
> In the mean time, you might enjoy my other, finished, TMA-fanfiction "The Eye Blinks" (https://archiveofourown.org/works/24810022) which portraits an alternate (happy) course of events the finale of season 4.

Melanie does not, in fact, change her mind over the almost two weeks Basira spends talking and haggling with all her contacts in order to precure anesthetics and work out the right dosage without giving away what they needed it for. She doesn’t let herself change her mind, to be precise, even though every fiber of her very being seems to scream at her to not go through with it, but she ignores it. If the last months had any redeeming features, it was probably that she had become pretty good at ignoring a lot of things her body kept screaming at her, that and some other, deeper part of herself and it was harder and harder to drown it out-

No, not quite right. It became harder and harder to tell, what she was ignoring and what were her own thoughts and desires. Nowadays, she has to guess and usually decides to go with whatever she least wants to do. Her colleagues had no idea how close they come to… a rather sudden end over the last weeks, or at least how often she had had to force herself not to…indulge.

The worst part is, that she isn’t even scared anymore, just angry. All the time at everything and she’s starting to enjoy it. That’s bad. Bad enough to do this.

“Melanie”, Jon says when she enters his office.

It’s a bit secluded, should, against all odds, Peter Lukas decide to pay them a visit, and it already features a cot and running water. Far from the best place to have any kind of surgery, a bit better than the rest of the institute.

“Don’t tell me that we don’t have to do this. I know and it doesn’t fucking help”

“Alright then”, Jon sighs, “do you know where Basira is?”

“She’ll be right here. Bit hard to do surgery without anesthesia, isn’t it?”

“Well, it’s not like any of this”, Jon’s gesture encompasses the whole room, “screams ‘perfect of operating on people’”

“True”

“I guess, reminding you that I’ve never had any kind of medical training apart form a first aid test five years ago is off the table as well”

“Yup. Let’s just get this over with and hey”, she says as she sits down on the edge of the cot, “however this ends, you won’t have to deal with me becoming an avatar of the slaughter so there’s that”

“That does precisely nothing to make me feel better about all of this”

Melanie shrugs, gazing down at her knees. She’s already wearing shorts and her legs look incredibly pale in the neon glare of Jon’s office. Well, one of her legs looks incredibly pale to Jon, the other one… even without _knowing_ , he can tell that it’s starting to rot away. The impurity spreading from the bullet wound towards the rest of her leg and skin. It’s not the whole leg yet and maybe, maybe he silently prays to whatever merciful power might be listening, they’re not too late.

Maybe.

Maybe, none of that will matter if he-

“Here”, Basira doesn’t waste time with a good morning but passes Jon a metal box.

“Can you stay here please?”, he asks her while he opens the box and carefully arranges its contents on his desk, “if Melanie doesn’t object of course”

“I don’t mind”

Another shrug.

“Okay then”

\---

Martin is waiting at his desk, pretending to read while he keeps an eye on the door. No one really expects Peter to drop by today of all days but they don’t exactly want to explain to anyone what is currently happening in Jon’s office. Although, Martin muses quietly whilst rereading page twenty-three for the tenth time, a bit of homemade surgery is hardly the worst thing that’s taken place within the archives, even in his time there.

He also keeps straining his ears, not entirely sure what he hopes to hear- screaming? Better not to hear anything at all probably. It doesn’t take long until the door to Jon’s office opens and Martin snaps his book shut, just in time to see Jon rush past him, one hand clamped over his mouth.

The sound of his boyfriend violently getting sick greets Martin as soon as he enters the men’s room and it hasn’t stopped by the time he crouches down next to him and starts rubbing his back. Jon’s hair is still pulled back into a tight bun so at least that’s out of the way

“Hey”, Martin says softly when Jon starts shaking, tears running down his cheeks as he retches, “hey, it’s okay”

He’s not entirely sure, what exactly is supposed to be okay yet but he has already mostly decided how exactly he is going to tell the others off if they try and lay into Jon-

“I-I’m sorry”, is the first thing Jon manages to say as soon as his shoulders stop heaving.

“Would you like to sit up?”, Martin asks after a couple of minutes, ignoring the apology with the practiced ease of having lived with Jon for a fortnight, and carefully helps Jon to sit up when he nods.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nothing- nothing to talk about”, Jon sniffs, allowing Martin to tug him forwards and into his arms, “got-got it out, sewed it-it shut”

“Was a bit much, hm?”

“Bit”

Jon exhales shakily, squeezing his eyes shut and clutching his head as if that might keep the hot, pulsating pressure behind his temples at bay while Martin smooths one hand up and down between his shoulder blades. They stay like that for some time until Jon stops sobbing and Martin kisses the top of his head, one hand cradling the back of his neck.

“Thank you”, Jon whispers when Martin helps him up and over to the sinks.

“Just stop saying sorry for five minutes, okay?”

“I’ll try”

Jon almost manages to smile once he has finished rinsing out his mouth and straightens back up. His eyes are little more than dark slits beneath the harsh ceiling light, his vision still a bit blurry whenever the pain behind his eyes flares up.

“Come on, we’ll get your things, I’ll take you back home”

“It’s barely ten”

“Yes, and you already performed amateur surgery on our colleague, that’s enough for one day”

“But-“

“Jon, you look like you’re about the keel over and I’m not going to let you work yourself into another coma”, Martin tells him, lifting up one hand to cup his boyfriend’s cheek, “and are you really about to tell me, you can properly work like this?”

“I could sort through my notes”

“You can do that tomorrow. At the earliest”

“Alright”, Jon sighs, allowing himself to sag forward against Martin.

“You’re going to tell Basira though”

“Fine by me”

Jon’s legs shake only a little when Martin leads him to the tiny breakroom and gently pushes him down onto the sagging couch.

“I’ll be right back, do you need anything? A glass of water maybe?”

“Please”, Jon whispers, voice still rough, head falling back against the back of the couch and Martin carefully closes both of Jon’s hands around the glass. He only lets go once he is sure Jon has it and is not going to drop it straight away.

Martin thinks about closing the door to the breakroom behind himself but decides against it when he casts one last look over his shoulder and only sees how pale and tired Jon looks, slumped back against the couch, eyes half closed beneath dark lids.

The door to Jon’s office is pushed to, not quite shut but Martin knocks anyway.

“How is she?”, he asks quietly as soon as Basira’s face appears in the space between door and frame.

“She’s still out of it but I think she’s going to be okay”, she whispers, opening the door just a tiny bit further until Martin can make out Melanie’s sleeping form on the cot, one of her legs wrapped in gauze beneath the knee. Basira’s jacket is barely big enough to cover Melanie’s upper body but barely reaches past her hips.

“That, that’s good”, Martin mumbles, tearing his gaze away from Melanie’s thin limbs.

“You’re going home?”, Basira asks, voice softer than usual, “I think Jon’s done for today”

“He sure is”, Martin agrees, hitching the strap of Jon’s satchel higher on his shoulder, “are you two going to be alright on your own?”

“What, like either of you’s up to protecting us if whatever kind of horror tries to get in here”

But her voice isn’t as sharp as it could be.

“You should still call us if you need anything”

“Will do, now get him home”

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll stay with her tonight, just in case but she really should be fine. Jon… he really did good today, tell him that, okay?”

“Okay”

The door closes between them with a soft click and Martin hears the key turn in its lock; the sound does more to calm him than it should. Martin takes a deep breath before he starts back towards the breakroom, his and Jon’s coats folded over his arm.

\---

Jon spends the rest of the day curled up with Martin on the sofa in their living room, Martin rubbing his belly and side, smoothing back his hair until Jon’s eyes grow heavy and then some. By the time he brushes his teeth before bed, he has calmed down and his head has almost stopped pounding. After the galleons and galleons of green tea and soup Martin had made him have, even Jon’s stomach stops churning at some point and he falls asleep easily in Martin’s arms that evening.

The next morning he wakes up as close to fine as he gets these days and returns to work with Martin, despite his boyfriend pointing out, that he didn’t have to rush himself to get back.

Melanie isn’t there but that’s not a surprise. Jon had asked her to stay home and heal up and no one expected her return before the week after next. Basira would check in on her every other day and she had all of their phone numbers in case of emergency. Jon tries not to know about another, achingly familiar face whenever he thinks about Melanie, not when neither Melanie nor Georgie have told him anything. 

The only thing surprising is the fact, that Jon’s first couple of weeks back go by almost normally. As normal as trying to find a way of preventing the end of the world in a chaotic archive filled with countless descriptions of horror upon horror and cursed artefacts could be but be that as it may. Apart from the headaches Jon still gets whenever he overstrains himself with knowing or work, he feels better than he has in months not being constantly exhausted anymore or unable to sleep for fear of visiting other people’s dreams.

In fact, he still can’t remember any dreams he has, even though he has, according to Martin, started talking in his sleep again, something he thought, he had finally stopped doing but alas not. The fact that Martin thinks it’s cute helps, but Martin thinks half the things Jon does on a daily basis cute or, and he makes a point of telling Jon so in the sweetest voice and calling him ‘adorable’, no matter what Jon says anyway.

His third workweek too ends relatively normal and peaceful, apart from Tim’s abandoned desk still sitting in its old place and right in front of Melanie’s, where Jon has currently moved to, rather than sitting in his office all day and starring at the ceiling while he tries to know things. Jon has not come any closer to it than he had had to this far, but even from Melanie’s desk it’s fairly obvious that all of Tim’s things are still exactly where he had left them. As if he had just stood up and left to go home or out for drinks after work- like he had not done in weeks before his-

Jon has taken to disregard the empty desk in front of him as best he can; heaven knows there’s enough work to be done without hanging onto bitter memories and really, things are fine, all things considered. They even have made progress, not much, but a handful of threads have emerged they can follow. It’s better than nothing and, for once, everyone and everything is fairly okay, maybe even good if one looked at nothing but Martin and Jon.

That is, of course, until Jon jolts awake at half past one in the morning on Friday, hands clutching at his throat as if he was suffocating and eyes wide in the pitch black of Martin’s- their bedroom.

“What is it?”, Martin asks at some point, one hand still cupping Jon’s face, the other one pressing Jon’s hand against his own chest.

He had told Jon to feel for his heartbeat and breathe, forcing himself to in- and exhale as slowly and evenly as he could with his boyfriend still gasping for breath and failing to get out whatever he wanted to say in the orange halo of the nightstand lamp. It had worked better than Martin had expected, especially after Jon had stopped trying to speak through his ragged breathing.

“Nightmare?”

He isn’t quite sure whether he hoped for Jon to say yes or no yet. Up until now he had simply slept through the night, quietly muttering in his sleep but unable to remember anything he had dreamed and while Martin doesn’t want him to return to bad dreams and night terrors, something new that made him stop breathing or experience pain in his sleep wasn’t exactly what they needed either.

“Not- not quite”, Jon finally gets out, his finger’s still knotted in Martin’s pajama jacket, chest still rising and falling hard while he tries to force the bile rising in his throat back down.

“Sh”, Martin tells him, pushing Jon’s hair out of his sweat slick forehead, “take your time, we have all the time in the world”

Jon is shaking his head even before Martin has finished his sentence and Martin is about to roll his eyes and tell Jon to stop being nitpicky when he opens his mouth and says:

“I know where Tim and Daisy are”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Like I said in the notes at the beginning, there's going to be a bigger plot line over the next couple of chapters - I just thought, you might want to be warned about cliffhangers, since this is mostly fluff and there's enough pain and trauma in canon.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this and until Thursday!


	11. XI.

“What exactly”, Martin starts, trying his best to keep his voice level, “do you mean, you know where Tim and Daisy are? They’re…”

No one had ever outright said it. Jon had called Martin ‘the only person alive’ he was fine being kissed by. A month after the unknowing when Jon had still shown no sign of ever waking up again, Basira and Melanie had told Martin to let go and stop wasting his time, seeing that Jon was ‘as close to coming back to them as Daisy and Tim’.

Their bodies had not been found after the explosion but really, what difference did that make? They had been gone, vanished without a trace as far as Martin knew. He had not spoken to the firemen or casualty doctors after Jon had been brought to the hospital, had not even tried to find out their names, had- if he was being honest with himself – not really wanted to know. Martin was pretty sure, human bodies weren’t utterly destroyed without leaving anything behind even if they stood close to an explosion but he’d rather imagine that or them vanishing within the ritual than bits of pieces of them staying behind, too small and burnt to actually identify und ultimately being thrown away along with the rest of the rubble and, from what Basira had told them, _mess_ the stranger’s ritual had entailed. Martin had not asked about that either.

“They’re not dead”

Jon’s voice still comes out choked, hoarse but there’s something else and Martin isn’t quite sure, whether its amazement or terror.

“You saw them?”

“I-“, Jon starts, furrowing his brows until Martin shakes his head and brushes his fingers above the horizontal creases on his boyfriend’s forehead, as if he were trying to smooth his worries down along with the lines, “maybe. I’m not sure whether it was a memory from my coma, or…”, he smiles bitterly but before Martin can interrupt him he finishes his sentence, “as one might say, _live_ ”

His face takes on a hard look when he says the last word, but a moment later, it morphs into open fear and worry;

“ _I don’t want to have those dreams back, Martin_ ”

And what _can_ Martin reply to that?

“I know”, he tells Jon, bending further over him and pressing their foreheads together, “maybe it’s just your memories coming back”

He hopes so at least. Even if it means Jon remembers all his rambling and sobbing of the past weeks – anything if only it doesn’t bring Jon pain for once.

“Whatever it is”, Jon says, and now his voice is urgent, “I have to tell Basira, we can get them back”

“Back from where?”

Jon doesn’t answer at once and Martin can tell, that he’s trying his best to soften the blow but, in the end, he shakes his head the tiniest bit before he opens his mouth, deciding against even trying to talk around it.

“The buried”

“The- as in-“

“As in ‘do not open’, scratched into a coffin lid. Exactly”

“And they’ve been there since-“

“Since the unknowing”

“I- one of them brought that bloody coffin back to the archives and-I think, I’m going to be sick”

Weeks. It had been _weeks_ since either Breekon or Hope had turned up with that cursed thing and basically dropped it before their feet- and all they had done was moving it to storage while-

“Martin”, Jon says in a soft voice, reaching out from where he is still on his back, Martin kneeling next to him on the mattress, “Martin, it’s not your fault; how were you supposed to know-“

“Oh, I don’t know”, Martin snaps, “maybe by serving an ancient fear god devoted to knowing horrible stuff?”

“It doesn’t happen that fast”, Jon whispers and Martin’s anger doesn’t vanish but dies down a little. The lump in his throat remains though, nausea churning in the pit of his stomach, “I can still get them back”

‘I think’ Jon adds silently, then scratches that and amends it to ‘I hope’.

“How?”, Martin asks after a short pause, mouth going dry as he looks down at Jon.

“It’s”, Jon tells him, swallowing drily himself, “it’s a pretty straight forward approach. I’ll tell you and Basira at the archives” _You’re not going to like it._

Martin looks at him for a long moment, doesn’t even blink as he watches Jon’s face and his boyfriend can pinpoint the moment of his decision. He is still surprised when Martin opens his mouth and tells him though.

“No”, Martin says softly, shaking his head, “we’re not doing that. We’re not going to storm ahead blindly and without thinking or even talking things through- and don’t tell me, we don’t have enough time to do that; if we don’t make time to use our heads and plan for once, we’ll just play into Elias’ hands. And”, he goes on, somehow managing to force his lips into a weak smile, “we don’t have to do any of this alone anymore; we can work together, we can _do_ this together, but only if we talk and you tell me what’s going on in there”

He gently taps his index- and middle finger against Jon’s temple and his boyfriend’s lips part, no sound coming out. Jon stares at him, and Martin wagers, he can see the wheels turn behind his eyes.

“I didn’t think of that”, he finally says, voice small and almost getting lost on its way out, “you’re right”

“It’s alright. I just, I can’t do the whole toughing everything out on your own thing again. Not with you, not after… everything”

“Of course”, Jon breathes, night limp curls still spread about his head and shoulders in an unruly mess of black and grey, “I’m sorry”

“Just tell me about your plan?”, Martin tells him in a soft voice, “we can work on the rest later”, he adds, then dips his head and kisses Jon’s cool brow, not quite able to not say, “together”

Jon laughs then, breathless and bordering on hysterical, reaching up to lay his hand against Martin’s jaw, stroking the soft, pale skin with the pad of his thumb.

“I love you”, he whispers, properly smiling when Martin echoes him.

“So what’s your plan then?”, Martin finally asks, shifting so he can place his left hand on the mattress next to Jon’s shoulder and hold himself up more easily above him.

“I’ll go in, find them and get them out”

Martin merely blinks down at him, and Jon is fairly sure, it’s not because his glasses are still sitting on the nightstand.

“What?”, he asks when Martin doesn’t say anything.

“Jon, _that’s not a_ _plan_ ”

“It is”

“But _how_ are you find them? And _how_ are you going to get back out?”

“I’ll know where they are. Tim, I could probably… find anyway”, he says the last part in a whisper that’s barely audible, even in the quiet of the early morning, ‘always, anywhere’.

“Okay”, Martin nods, trying to breathe through the tightness building up in his chest and throat, “but how are you going to find your way back?”

“I’ll have an anchor waiting outside the coffin, I’ll find my way back to that”

“Jon…”, Martin sighs, chest tighter than ever, “What’s supposed to be your anchor? I reckon it has to be something strong and…”

They had brought a handful of personal belongings from Jon’s flat, and Martin doesn’t want to judge, but nothing of those had seemed important enough to Jon to work as anchors. Before the coma, his tape recorders and statements might have worked, but now?

“ _You_ are going to be my anchor of course”

And Jon says it with such utter conviction and certainty Martin’s voice fails him for a moment.

“I don’t know if I can _do_ that, Jon”, he finally says, all the doubt Jon doesn’t feel heavy in his chest and constricting his throat.

“You’ve done it once already”

If Martin didn’t still feel like he was about to get sick, he would have laughed at Jon’s incredulous tone of voice, blinking up at Martin with big eyes.

“But I didn’t- I didn’t know what I was _doing_ ”, Martin points out, “I don’t know how to repeat-“

“You told me, you loved me, you cared about me”, Jon reminds him gently, “that’s the best anchor there could ever be, especially since the feeling is mutual”

Jon smiles up at him, but it falters when Martin’s face remains in its worried and unsure expression.

“I-I didn’t want to-“, he starts again, but stops because he _had_ wanted to imply that Martin really, truly loved him, knows it to be true, “it’s your decision of course, I’m not going to force you”

“Jon, that’s not my problem. I’d do it for you and Tim in a heartbeat”

“But?”

“But I’m not sure, whether I’m enough”, Martin whispers, “and I don’t want to be the reason, you don’t get back”

“Martin”, Jon tells him softly, “I don’t want to put pressure on you-“

“Bit late for that”, Martin barely whispers it, and Jon’s face pales in realization, even as Martin goes on to assure him, that it’s alright, which it really isn’t. He didn’t even think about what he was asking of Martin- not even asking, demanding without pausing to ask and he suddenly feels cold, even beneath the blankets.

“I’m sorry”, Jon’s mouth feels dry when he goes on, “god, I’m so sorry”

He isn’t used to talking things through, he’s used to just react, try to prevent as much damage as possible but that’s not reason to-

“Well, you weren’t wrong, assuming I wanted to do anything to help, just…”, Martin trails off, not quite sure how to phrase it, “just maybe ask next time? Just for the sake of form?”

“I will, I promise”

“Okay then”, Martin tells him gently, “it’s alright, we can always just talk”

Jon nods hesitantly, only clearing his throat when Martin asks him, what he had wanted to say.

“Just- just that you did it once already. Without even thinking, so I’m pretty sure, that’s not the problem”

“Right…”, Martin murmurs, “right”

“Martin-“, Jon starts again but this time it’s Martin who cuts him off;

“And you’d really trust me with this? With getting all of you back?”

“Of course”, Jon promises without hesitation, “there’s no one I trust more- and I’m aware how cheesy that sounds, but that doesn’t make it any less true”

“As long as you’re aware of that”, Martin says hoarsely.

“And it wouldn’t be you alone, I thought we’d ask Basira to help get Daisy back”

“Okay”, Martin finally says, eyes still fixed on Jon’s face, “okay then, but you better believe you come back to me in one piece, Jonathan Sims, you’re not getting out of this that easily”

“I have absolutely no problem with that”

“Go get dressed, I’ll call Basira”, Martin sighs, but when Jon makes to get up, he catches his hand and holds him in place, “I was serious, you’re not going to risk anything, okay? If you can’t find them, you get back to us and we try again at some point, please”

“I promise”, Jon says after a beat, “I’ll get back to you, no matter what”

He had once already, had he not?

\---

The night greets them with an ice cold embrace and by the time, they have returned to the institute, their faces are red and frozen. Martin has not let go of Jon’s hand once and the tiny space between their laced fingers is the only place they’re not cold.

Even the archive’s usually chilly air is a welcome change and they make their way to artifact storage straight away. Basira awaits them in front of the coffin, pacing back and forth in sweatpants so baggy and washed out, Martin is pretty sure, she all but left her flat as soon as they’d ended their call without taking the time to change.

“You’re sure, they’re in there?”, she asks weakly, not looking at the coffin as she points in its direction and exhales with a shudder when Jon nods.

“And what’s your plan?”

Jon tells her and, to Basira’s credit, she doesn’t even blink.

“And you’re both up for that?”, is all she asks, but there’s no malice in her voice.

“Well, I can’t really imagine a stronger anchor than a person whose love has already proven to be strong enough to overpower one of the fourteen”, Jon shrugs, but his eyes are soft when he looks up at his boyfriend, whose teeth have sunk into his lower lip some time before.

“I mean, that’s about what happened”, Martin murmurs, slightly helplessly and more than a bit uncomfortable with both of their eyes on him.

“Also”, Jon goes on when he notices Martin’s discomfort, “there’s a chance my, our new patron might help with a situation like that”

“How so?”

“The fears are pretty much what their name says; things people are afraid of but most fears encompass more than a single aspect. The vast for example wouldn’t be nearly as terrifying if it weren’t for people’s fear of being all alone and own their own with no chance or prospect to ever find another living thing ever again in whatever vastness they find themselves in. I’d wager that fear of being on your own forever features into the Buried as well, apart from the fear that you’re trapped and the earth-“

“Stop right there”, Basira cuts him off, voice trembling as she closes her eyes and forces herself to take a deep breath, “I don’t want to think about what they’ve had to go through since the unknowing until we have them safe back here”

“Of course. I’m sorry, Basira”

“So what you’re saying is that Tim and Daisy might have an easier time getting back if they’re no longer on their own and that you’ll have no problem finding Martin”

“Exactly”

“And you’re sure, they’ll be happy to see you of all people”

“No”, Jon sighs, “that’s what I’m worried about as well, didn’t exactly part with either of them on good terms”

 _Or were on good terms with either of them anytime ever during the last months_ , but Jon doesn’t add that.

“Look, Jon no offense but maybe it’d be better if I went in instead? I’m sure I can get both of them out” _And I’m not exactly a critical player in whatever kind of game Elias is playing with you, never mind I don’t have someone who cares about me out here and who’d mind me getting stuck._

“And how would you find them?”

“I figure, I’d have no problem finding Daisy anywhere and Tim…, well we were always on kind of good terms?”

“That might work”, Jon allows, shoulders tensing up even thinking about what he’s about to say next, “and how would you get out?”

“I”, Basira says, mentally tacking stock of everyone she knows, everything she owns that could be an anchor and she comes up empty. The closest thing she can come up with are family heirlooms but there’s little chance of her being able to precure any of them any time soon and even then…

She presses her lips together as she shakes her head and Jon bites his tongue to keep himself from making a comment or even telling her he knew how she felt.

“Can you… can you know if there’s something I could use?”, she asks quietly.

“There’s one thing you could do”, Jon tells her after a moment, reopening his eyes, but his skin has gone pale and his voice comes out off, “you- you could use your body as anchor”

Both Basira and Martin only stare at him for a moment, before the penny drops and Martin presses his hand over his lips to smother the sound his throat wants to form, the shock his body wants to get out and be it by gasping. Basira doesn’t allow her face to betray anything, she merely looks at Jon, making a point not to be the one to blink first.

“By cutting off a finger or something?”, she asks, voice firm although she feels cold all over, nausea trying to force its way up her throat but she fights it back down.

“Something like that”, Jon agrees, visibly gulping as he speaks and tightening his grip on Martin’s hand. Basira doesn’t even mention it, “needless to say”, Jon makes himself go on, holding Basira’s gaze, “we’re not doing that”

“What ‘we’ are you talking about?”, Basira hisses as if she wants to start carving straight away, “it’s my decision and none of your business”

“We, as in I won’t let you mutilate yourself for an anchor that may or may not be strong enough to draw you and two other people back out”, Jon tells her, then adds, “apart from the fact that you probably shouldn’t dig your way through the buried with a freshly opened flesh wound”

“Gloves”, Basira challenges but her heart is not in it. She _wants_ to do this, she _would_ do this but Jon’s right; there’s little chance of her not getting stuck and only adding to the number of people needing rescue. She has made her way out of one ongoing ritual and she can tell that she wouldn’t be able the pull of another domain with that kind of anchor. She’s not the kind of person to hang on to things, even herself; she’s the kind of person to let go and go on no matter what but she knows that that’s not enough for this.

“It’s not just the risk of infection we’re talking about”, Jon murmurs, “it’s not wise to bleed anywhere near the domains, never mind inside of them”

Martin’s face screws up at the mere thought but he keeps quiet, forces himself to be quiet because all he’d do would be asking Jon not to do this or maybe even demand to go in himself again. Which won’t work, they had talked it through on their way to the institute. Martin would probably be able to find Tim and make his way back out but there was no chance in hell he’d be able to find Daisy. And they would leave no one behind, Martin knows that. He agrees with it of course, in principle. In reality, he has to forbid himself from even thinking, that he cares a lot more about getting Tim back and that he doesn’t think Daisy is Jon’s responsibility after everything. The thought comes back but he keeps pushing it away; he’s _not_ that kind of person, he won’t allow himself to be that kind of person.

Basira comes to a similar conclusion, regarding Martin with pursed lips and she doesn’t challenge him. She can’t really blame him to be honest, isn’t even sure herself if she would be able to get Tim out either. They used to be colleagues, maybe even friends but she doubts that’s enough for this kind of thing. It seems, it really has to be Jon. Like always and, looking at him now, face determined as he stands in front of her, the thought doesn’t feel mean or sarcastic, even to Basira herself and something deep inside of her aches at the thought of sending him in there all on his own, aches at the thought of Daisy being trapped and only lengthening her pain by arguing useless arguments.

“So we all agree”, Jon finally says, almost managing to keep the tremble out of his voice although his death grip around his boyfriend’s fingers betrays him, “I’ll go. Right now”

“I, I can’t really say anything to make you do this or not”, Basira tells him quietly after a short pause, “the only thing I can promise you, is that I’ll do anything I can to help if there’s anything you want me to do”

“Same”, Martin whispers, acutely aware that any additional syllable increases his risk of just bursting into tears, sinking to his knees and begging Jon not to go, to just please stay here and be safe by about seventy percent.

The fact that any second more he has with Jon is also a second Tim spends … in there does not help, as does the fact that he would give about anything but Jon to get Tim back. Anything but _Jon_. But they had talked about this. It’s Jon’s decision after all and Martin can’t very well ask him not to go, not to try at least.

“There’s something I need both of you to do”, Jon tells them, looking from Martin to Basira then back, trying to smile up at his boyfriend but his lips won’t comply, “I need both of you to stay here and concentrate on Tim and Daisy, remember anything you’ve ever known about them, imagine them back, allow any feelings you’ve denied yourselves… talk to each other maybe, just tell the other as much as you can”

“What about you?”, Basira asks softly, “would talking and thinking about you help you get back?”

“I don’t- yes, yes it will, but you don’t have to”

“Jon”, Basira sighs heavily, “cut the bullshit. Of course we’ll do anything to get you back, with or without the others. We’ll get them back but we’re not throwing you to the wolves”

She steps forward and hugs Jon tightly, holding him close just long enough for Jon to relax the tiniest bit and hug back with one arm, his other hand still clutching Martin’s.

“We thought you were gone too, and I’m pretty sure no one wants to lose you again, present company very much included, I’d say”

Basira pulls back when Jon doesn’t answer, hands still on either side of his neck and squeezes his shoulders when she concludes:

“So you better get back here, alright? We’ll be right here, waiting for you, won’t we, Martin?”

“Definitely”, Martin agrees, voice almost clear as he too hugs Jon and this time Jon clings back at once, closing his eyes when Martin kisses him and only opening them again when his boyfriend adds, “I’ll never let you hear the end of it if you don’t come back”

He kisses Jon’s brow then, pressing their foreheads together for a moment before he lets go and Jon takes a deep breath before he turns to face the casket.

“Jon”, Martin says, just before he wants to take his first step, their fingers still laced, as they will remain until Jon steps in.

“Yes?”

“I wanted to give that to you tomorrow”, he tells Jon as he reaches into his coat pocket and closes his fingers around something cool.

“Martin”, Jon whispers, “I- you might not get it back”

“I don’t want to have I back either way”, Martin tells him firmly, closing Jon’s fingers around the key and the tiny lucky-cat-keychain he’d picked out for his boyfriend, “Maybe hook it to your beltloop though. Would be kind of awkward to lose it within the buried”

Jon does as he’s asked, fingers only shaking a bit and while he’s already messing with his clothes, he shrugs of Martin’s thick winter coat.

“Wouldn’t want to ruin it”, he tells Martin when he hands it over, “and I’m afraid it would only get in the way”

Martin wordlessly accepts it, wanting to tell Jon that he doesn’t care about that stupid, goddamn coat but not making a sound.

The key turns easily within its lock and the chain falls to the floor with a heavy thud and clatter. Jon tries to push the lid back far enough to stay upright, but in the end Basira wedges a spare wooden board between lid and coffin-lip. The stairs leading downwards and ever deeper downwards look just like Daisy had described them and the air the earth breaths out at them feels not nearly as cold as it should.

“Okay then”, Jon chokes out, squaring his shoulders.

“Good luck”, Basira says, feeling stupid when Jon turns around one last time.

“I love you”, Martin tells him on Jon’s other side, squeezing his hand as tightly as he can and later both of them will savor that ache.

“I love you too”, Jon whispers, voice thick and after one last look at first Martin, then Basira and back at Martin, he steps into the coffin and starts down the stairs.

He only lets go of Martin’s hand when their arms reach their limit and the only alternative would be either turning back or pulling Martin along.

“I’ll get them back, I’ll come back to you”, he says while he descends, then, when darkness swallows him. Only when Martin and Basira are already too far away to make out his words, he adds, “hopefully” and keeps on walking, following the pull behind his ribs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and your lovely comments!
> 
> Next update will be up on Sunday - and guess what's going to happen.
> 
> By the way, as fate would have it, next week's chapters will be incredibly fluffy (look forward to some relationship- and dramatis personae changes). After today's episode I'm afraid, we'll sorely need it too.
> 
> Also, and I know, there's still a lot of time left but I will repeat this warning a lot beforehand: chapter 19 will end on a huge cliffhanger, which will be partly resolved in the following chapter and fully resolved in chapter 21. - Like I said, there's still a lot of time until then but I know most of you lovely people come here for fluff and not more pain. 
> 
> Anyway, lots of love as always and stay safe <3


	12. XII.

“So…”, Basira says once Jon’s footsteps are no longer audible and turns to Martin, “any ideas on how we do this?”

“I think the best thing would probably be to just talk about them? Like tell each other things”, Martin shrugs, hands tight around the coat Jon had given back, “I’d also like to get some water bottles and things down here for… for later”

“That’s probably a good idea”, Basira agrees, silently debating with herself whether she should hug Martin too before she discards the thought and instead asks whether she should go upstairs and get the bottles and whatever.

“No, I’ll- I’ll be right back, I think one of us should stay here and start… remembering, but I’ll be right back”

“Wait”, Basira says when Martin turns to leave, “you brought your phone right?”

“I did. Why?”

“Because I’m going to call you right now, and please don’t hang up before you get back here. I really don’t want either of us getting… lost or I don’t know without the other noticing at least”

“Okay”

Basira only hopes Martin’s going to be a little more chatty once he’s returned because she honestly can’t be the one both initiating and maintaining this particular kind of Q&A-session.

\---

Going forward becomes a lot more difficult once Jon is underground. The strange half-not, half stale and rotten leaves smell alone makes him feel like he’s trapped and the earth around him tries to push inside of him, right through his clothes and skin and bones. He’s not sure whether he can still breathe, and he is even less sure if he still needs to breathe down here but, he figures, pushing the panic clawing its way through his lungs and chest and throat in a vain attempt of getting out, back down as hard as he can, he’s spent almost two months without breathing at all so really, what does it matter?

The pull gets only stronger but Jon still stops from time to time to _know_ whether he’s on the right track. He doesn’t entirely trust the buried not to try and mislead him, even with his connection to- he figures, his new patron stands a better chance of remaining untouched. The loose earth he’s clawing his way through is in turn trying to press its way into his mouth and nose but Jon can’t really make his way with one hand alone and spare the other to cover his nose. At least he can press his lips together and keep the soil out of there as he keeps digging, the key and keychain digging into his hip a constant reminder of what he has to go back to.

\---

“Here”

Basira jumps only a bit when she hears Martin’s voice. By the time she turns, he is already holding the thermos out towards her, waiting for her to take it right out of his hand.

“Put the kettle on while I got everything else. Don’t know when these were washed the last time though”, Martin says as he puts down three water bottles and sets about spreading the quilts out on the stained floorboards, “What? Were you planning on standing here all night and freezing?”

“Just didn’t expect something quite so…” picnic-like, but she’s not going to say that to Martin, not when he’s already on edge, “you’re probably right, thanks”

“What would you say to rotating between them?”, Martin asks as he places the coat over the forming blanket pile and sits down near one edge, “you probably started with Daisy already?”

Basira forbids herself from asking Martin whether he wants to talk about it; they’ll probably end somewhere around there anyway before… But that doesn’t mean she relishes a comeback of how things were directly after the unknowing, when they had thought all three of them had been gone and she and Melanie could watch Martin break down further with every day that passed without Jon and Tim.

“We can switch over to Tim if you want”, Basira suggests, “or Jon”, she amends when Martin exhales a shaky breath.

“No, let’s do Tim I-“, and when Martin cuts himself off and when his shoulders start shaking, Basira is all but sure, he’s crying. That is until Martin looks up again.

“Okay”, she tells him, the corner of her mouth twitching as she kneels down as well, “glad someone’s having fun”

“It’s just...”, Martin finally manages, slowly calming down, “Tim”, he just says, as if Basira needed the explanation.

“Yeah, at least we’ll have something to laugh about once he gets back here”

“To roll your eyes at and make fun of Jon when he gets flustered in return, you mean?”

“As if that’s not super fun”

\---

Jon’s hands are bleeding. The first nail has broken off about… some time ago? He has no idea how long he has been digging his way through the buried; the only thing he knows is that the pull behind his ribs feels stronger now and that the tips of his fingers sting and burn as he forces himself onwards. The thought what else, besides the buried’s victims, might be lurking in the endless and everchanging tunnels and earth has not left Jon’s head for a second ever since he had started digging his own tunnel. The question whether something in here might come after the frail, coppery track his broken nails and fingers leave behind in the loose soil that somehow seems pleased with this unexpected fertilizer, has soon joined in and gets progressively louder, the more nails tear off. Never mind that Jon doesn’t wear his fingernails long in the first place.

Nearly every nail has broken at this point and Jon’s breath has grown heavy in the oppressive dark- and tightness. He doesn’t dare to stop and take a break though, merely tries to tug the collar of his shirt over his mouth and nose but only manages to have more earth trickle in through the widened gap, nearly gags when it touches his bare skin and forces himself to keep his lips closed. His mouth might be filled with the damp, earthy taste anyway but he doesn’t want any earth to actually get into his mouth and inside of him. As long as he can; he is under no illusion that he will have to open his mouth at some point, to talk to Tim and Daisy at the latest and that he’s probably already breathed in uncountable particles through his nose but Jonathan Sims is nothing if not stubborn.

Which is why he goes on, trying to push through the ache in his legs and arms, the looming sense of dread and steadily away from the exit. He already knows that this is the only chance he gets to try and get Tim and Daisy back if only because he wouldn’t be able to enter the buried a second time, not now that he knows how it feels to pass through it.

This is it. And he goes on.

\---

“So”, Basira drawls out and Martin knows what question is about to follow before she has even started asking it, “when did you know you had a crush on him?”

They had been playing this game for almost two hours already, starting out with the easy stuff. Like quirks Tim, Daisy and Jon had, normal interests, weird interests, vaguely personal information that had barely gone beyond the scope of normal office gossip. Both Martin and Basira had silently wished the thermos had been filled with gin rather than tea, or even the disgusting whiskey tea Melanie liked but had taken home after her bullet had been removed. That at least would have moved their conversation along faster and neither of them really thought that their shallow chitchat this far had done anything really to help the others get back.

Now, that would change apparently and of course it’s Basira who asks the first real question.

“On Jon?”, he asks back, just to stall for time, at least for a moment.

“You can start with him if you want”, Basira allows, mock casually and takes a long sip while Martin sputters and turns his head to stare at her.

“W-what?”

And Basira smirks at him while Martin flushes in the darkest shade of red she has seen on him yet. They might really be getting somewhere now. She sets down her cup and keeps her gaze steady on Martin.

\---

There is no up or down. Jon _thinks_ he’s moving in one direction but he can’t be sure, he might be moving in circles after all. His chest feels as if it might burst any moment and he’s honestly not sure whether it’s his need to breathe, to really, properly breathe fresh air, just for a second, or the pull that has been growing ever stronger since he’d started out for Tim. Ages ago, forever ago.

Tears stream down his cheeks, sobs choking him but still he refuses to open his mouth, make the tiniest sound even as salt and dirt flow past his lips. His jaw hurts at how hard he’s clenching his teeth and his eyes sting, burn only worse when he pulls his sleeve over his hand and hastily wipes at his face before he gets back to clawing at the damned soil in front of him.

And at last the dirt gives way.

\---

“Come one”, Basira finally tells Martin, who has clamped his mouth shut at this point, starring at the floor in front of them, and he’s been silent too long already, they need to keep going and this? This might be mean but it _is_ focusing on Tim and Jon and they can’t afford long pauses, “we don’t have all night”

“I don’t know what-“

“Martin”, she cuts him off, “stop playing dumb and look at me”

He does, even if it takes him a long moment.

“I’m not saying this is fair, but if we want them to get back, we might as well start being honest”

“What, like you’re honest about Daisy?”, Martin bites back, crossing his arms in front of him as if that might keep Basira from asking further questions.

“You know what? Exactly like that. Aren’t you tired of always denying your feelings? Not like I or anyone of you is any good at that”, Basira meets Martin’s eyes openly and she’s told the truth; she’s so, so tired. Of everything.

With Daisy gone, she had not allowed herself to think of her at all if she could help it, what’s one missed opportunity if the one- _the only one_ she loved and cared about was gone anyway and it didn’t matter. But now she’s not gone. She might come back.

“And I, for one, am going to stop fucking around tonight, whatever happens. I’m done pretending, whether I get Daisy back or not. I’m done being scared”

“Like of everything?”, Martin asks drily and Basira laughs.

“Tired of being scared of making a fool of myself at the very least”

“That’s a pretty good feeling too”

“What, you’re going to join me here?”

“I- only if you don’t tell- I mean, if you let me tell Jon on my own”

“Course”, Basira says, a little more gently, “although you should probably tell Tim too- what, it’s not like it’s not obvious between you three”

\---

Jon’s hands push through the earth and his fingers brush against something solid, against cloth. A shoulder that moves as soon as Jon’s hands make contact

“Who’s there?”

The voice is rough, hoarse and it comes out both afraid and removed, like fear is just an old reflex, yet to be abandoned. The anger is gone as well and he sounds so young, so vulnerable without it.

“Who are you?”, Tim repeats, trying, trying so hard not to scream- he’s not even sure whether that scream should be terror or joy, “talk, god damn it”

_I might not be able to die down here, but that doesn’t mean-_

“It’s”, Jon finally whispers, through tears and earth sticking to his lips and more tears, waiting to be shed, constricting his throat, “it’s me, Jon. Jonathan Sims”, he adds when the shoulder he’s still touching goes stiff.

“Like I wouldn’t know your fucking voice of all voices”

“I-“

“Are you really there?”, Tim asks before Jon can answer, moving his own hands towards the gap Jon is reaching through.

Their hands meet and before Jon can say anything, Tim’s fingers find his and squeeze them between his own.

“I am”, Jon tells him firmly, “I- turn your head maybe, I’ll-“

“Go for it”

Compared to everything else, it’s rather easy to push the rest of the earth away but Jon still moves slowly when he comes closer to Tim’s face.

He still can’t see Tim, but he can feel his shallow breath against his free hand when he pushes the remaining loose soil away.

“Hi”, Jon whispers when he lets his hand drop, the other one still clutching Tim’s right back, just like Martin had greeted him after he’d woken up and feeling just as stupid as the word leaves his lips.

“Hi”, Tim whispers back, voice utterly bewildered, “what are you doing here? Where are we?”

“The buried”, Jon gives the easier answer first, well the one he can answer most simply, “the coffin of-“

“From those deliverymen?”

“Well- yes. I think they were-“

“There during the unknowing”, Tim finishes, “yeah, they were there. Got out apparently as well”

“One did, Daisy killed the other”

“Can’t say I’m sorry ‘bout that”, Tim tells him hoarsely, squeezing Jon’s fingers tighter.

He feels the rough skin of Jon’s burnt hand against his palm and fingertips and some of the tension leaves his muscles, enough to allow himself to say “I saw you” in a softer tone of voice, to whisper it into the stale air between them, voice breaking between the words, “I thought you were dead at first, and then I stopped seeing you and I- until earlier, I think I saw you only just?”

“I saw you too”, Jon whispers back, throat tight and trying desperately to focus, not to lose it right here because Tim probably still- he doesn’t let himself finish that thought and goes on instead, “I couldn’t remember at first, only tonight”

“It’s night?”, Tim asks and he sounds so… relieved about this tiny bit of information here, where time has no meaning that Jon doesn’t have the heart to disappoint him.

“It was when I left. It’s definitely not a time you’d describe as ‘morning’ yet”

Tim barks out a laugh then, squeezing his eyes shut, until he realizes something.

“What do you mean, when you left? Where did you- where did you leave from?”

“The Institute? Storage”, Jon mutters, only going on when Tim keeps silent, “our- Martin’s flat before that”

“Are you serious?”

“I- I’ve been staying there since I woke up- Tim we don’t have time for this, we need to get Daisy and go back”

“And how would we do that?”, Tim asks flatly, his grip on Jon’s hand slacking, “there’s no way out of here”

“Martin and Basira are waiting upstairs and they”, Jon cuts himself in with a sharp intake of breath when something behind his ribs gives a lurch, stronger than the last time and by the way Tim gasps next to him, Jon figures he feels it too, “they’re our anchors, we’ll find our way back to them, like I- we’ll be fine”

“Like you what?”, Tim asks, voice pitching higher, “tell me what’s happening”

“Like I found my way to you”

“That”, Tim starts, trying to take a deep breath but the air is so dead, he might as well stop trying all together, “that, that feeling earlier, like the one just now, that was you? Trying to find me?”

“More than trying actually”, Jon feels he should point out, “but we really should get going, Daisy-“

“Why did you come here?”

“To find you and Daisy and bring you home”, Jon tells him urgently, “Tim-“

“Why would you do that?”

The shock is slowly ebbing away and Tim can feel the buried’s grip around him tighten, his hopelessness, paralyzing terror return, his guilt.

“What do you mean?”, Jon asks, cursing the fact that he can’t just drag Tim with him with all the questions they can answer once they’re back, once they’re safe again, “was I supposed to leave you here?”

“Of course you were!”

“I-what?”

“You got out, there was a reason you got out and we- I got stuck here-“

“That’s bullshit and you know it Tim, there’s-“

“You should go get Daisy”, Tim whispers, not yet pulling back his hand but waiting for Jon to loosen his grip, then act, “get back to Martin, he could never get over losing you down here”

“He’s not losing either of us, we’re all getting back! Tim, what are you doing?”

“I’m staying here”, Tim whispers, turning his face away, as if that mattered in the pitch black of the bowels of the planet, “nothing for me to get back to”

“What do you mean nothing?”, Jon half yells and he wants to shake Tim if only to make him stop talking if he could not make him make sense, “I told you, Martin and Basira are waiting for us, Melanie too-“

“They don’t need me. Basira and Melanie never did and- and Martin has you, finally, so there’s no need for-“

“What are you talking about? Of course- of course we want you back! Martin is miserable without you and-“, but Jon can’t start with his own feelings, not after everything he put Tim through, “we all miss you and Daisy, we need you-“

“The only people who needed me to do anything were Sasha and Danny and a fat load of good did I do for either of them”, Tim exhales shakily, now actually trying to yank back his hand but Jon holds on fast, “I only ever fucked things up, I don’t deserve- I’m staying right here where I- where you can all forget I ever existed-“

“Tim”, Jon says very quietly, very slowly, “listen to me very carefully now: I’m not going to leave you here, not for anything in the world and I don’t care whether that makes you hate me more; I’m not giving anyone else I love to the fourteen and have them suffer eternally- because that is what you’re asking, you realize that, right?”

“I-“, Tim stops even before Jon cuts him off again.

“Don’t come at me with ‘I deserve or I want this’, I-“, I can’t lose you again, “ _I don’t care_. We’re going to find Daisy and if I have to drag you out of here or stay right here with you, so help me god I will do it because I’m not letting you down again”

The silence that settles between them is so heavy with meaning and unsaid things, it almost feels as if the soil between them as closed off again.

“Also”, Jon finally adds, voice quiet now, trembling as he whispers into the tiny, carved out space between them, “Martin would- I don’t think he could go through losing both of us again and I’m not doing that to him, so do it for him if not for yourself. You can do whatever you want once we’re out of here, but you have to get out. I’m not leaving you behind”

\---

“The Archers?”, Martin laughs incredulously, although both their laughter is bordering on mania at this point, voices pitching too high when they ask questions, eyes darting too fast around the room, from one corner to the other, from the closed door to the coffin whose lid remains propped open, “really?”

“What can I say? She loves that fucking show, always had it one when we were in the car by ourselves”

“Tim really likes podcasts- those that tell a story rather than the informative ones”

“Those rather Jon’s forte?”

“Surprisingly not”, Martin tells her, a faint smile creeping onto his face as he remembers Jon’s face a couple of days ago when he had tried out a podcast on philosophy he had thought looked promising, “he doesn’t like the ones that promise facts and then dare embellish them”

“What, he’d rather have a two hour lecture that’s just fact after fact with no pause? Actually, that sounds exactly like what he wants”

“Pretty much”, Martin nods, still quietly smiling, “he doesn’t like the anecdotes or whatever they try to use to make everything more palatable, and he always complains that they talk too slowly”

“I’m so not surprised about that”

“Yeah, and don’t get me started on when any podcast or documentary gets their facts wrong- have you ever seen Jon actually pissed?”

“Only stressed and paranoid I think”

“Oh, that’s nothing compared to how he got when we watched that biopic on Galileo, believe me and it’s only gotten worse since he actually knows when they’re wrong”

“Why does he keep watching them?”

“To complain”, Martin suggests, “I don’t know, have you ever tried trying to understand why Jon does the things he does?”

“Well, his main motivation seems to be spite and guilt so”

“Yeah, probably”, Martin sighs, and Basira can’t help herself but laugh at how wistful he sounds.

“You’re utterly smitten, aren’t you?”

“Maybe”, Martin shrugs, face dopey as ever, “but so’s he and I- it’s really nice actually”

“I can imagine”, Basira murmurs and now she’s the one to sound wistful, but it only lasts for a moment or two before she shakes her head and suggests, “I’m pretty sure he does it to show off actually”

“Probably”, Martin agrees, “although it’s really not like he has anyone left to impress”

Basira is about to point out that ‘impressive’ isn’t really the right word for Jon’s… abilities but Martin finally looks at ease again and she thinks, she feels something like a pull behind her ribs.

“Do you…?”, she asks Martin softly, cupping her hand over her chest where the pull feels strongest.

“Yeah”, Martin nods, fighting the urge to turn to face the coffin, “I just hope, Jon’s going to be sensible for once in his life and lets me take care of him when he gets back”

“I wouldn’t waste too much breath on that hope”

“Yeah, I know”, Martin sighs softly, finally giving in and risking a glance at the open lid but of course nothing has changed and his face falls.

“Hey, have I ever told you about the time I tried to surprise Daisy for her birthday?”

\---

Finding Daisy takes, against all expectations a lot less time than finding Tim, although Jon has to rely on knowing where she is. He keeps his hold tight around Tim’s hand as they dig their way towards her. It’s only in the beginning that he wants to make sure Tim won’t try and bail on him, and before long Tim is clutching right back again.

They don’t talk as they move forward; Tim’s head is too full and just letting himself be pulled along by Jon is easier than trying to make sense of everything. Well, he’s less being pulled along than digging his way through the loose soil by Jon’s side.

The whole buried is riddled with tunnels and barrows of varying sizes and shapes. Some of them are empty and easy to crawl through, some are filled with loose soil that is relatively easy to push away and to the sides, although that does make the passage even smaller and others are too narrow to fit through. The earth forming around the tunnels is tough and it takes ages to dig through that but following someone within the buried does have the perk of following their tracks and not having to dig entire new passages by yourself. Doing it side by side, only using one hand each still slows that relatively easy progress down somewhat but Tim is not exactly complaining.

He’s still vaguely sure that whatever kind of new hallucination this is, is going to dispel itself before long and honestly, he thinks just before they reach Daisy, it’s not like this particular trick his mind or this domain is playing on him, is all that convincing. As if Jon would-

But that train of thought shatters pretty spectacularly once they reach Daisy and Tim has to admit to himself that this is happening and that it’s all thanks to Jonathan Sims. As if things between them could ever-

\---

“Are you serious?”

“What? He has a nice voice, it’s not that surprising that he can sing”

“Maybe not that he can but that he actually does”

“I didn’t expect it either, to be honest”, Martin admits but just as he’s about to open his mouth and go on, the sounds of footsteps sound up from within the coffin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading - from here on it's going to be mostly fluff and open communication for several chapters.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it <3


	13. XIII.

It’s less the sound of footsteps, than the sound of three sets of feet being dragged up the surprisingly steep stairs. Jon had not remembered them being so high and narrow on his downwards passage but, he figures, it’s probably fitting for the buried to make its victims’ entry as smooth and easy as possible and their exit… less so. During the last stretch of their way the earth had seemed to close in on them with refreshed vigor and they had not dared stop moving for even a second, instead digging through the still relatively fresh tunnel Jon had dug on his way in as fast as possible.

Now, during the very last steps, they feel like they’re barely moving forward at all, don’t even have enough power left of lift their feet any higher off the ground than is absolutely necessary and really, three sets of shuffling feet stumbling their way out of this hellscape feels a lot more fitting than quick, long strides up the stairs.

Jon is leading the way, fingers still tightly laced with Tim’s who, in turn, is holding onto Daisy’s hand as they climb, still not quite daring to take a break or even look behind them and they’re still not moving particularly fast. His fingers have stopped bleeding at this point and the sting of brushing against Tim’s skin is almost sweet compared to the fatigue that has settled over his arms and legs, the fog that has crawled into his head and the leaden doom that settles on their shoulders heavier and heavier with every step they mount.

When they had reached the bottom of the stairs, had been able to walk and _walk_ _upright_ for the first time in what felt like decades, they had nearly wept with gratitude but now, on the steps and caught in this fresh hell of never-ending ascend, neither of them has energy enough left to spare to waste them on tears. As they climb, their necks and backs bend further and further, and before long their upright postures celebrating their escape from the buried deteriorate into a slouch. On the very last meters leading up to an exit so close, they can see it, they’re half crawling, half climbing up the steps.

Jon sees the outlines of two people hovering over the open coffin first, but he’s too… too _everything_ to tell the others, instead tightens his grip around Tim’s fingers, wincing from the hot surge of pain in his own hand, and picks up speed one last time, drags Tim and Daisy along on the last steps.

Basira and Martin only step back far enough to let the others clamper out of the coffin and catch them right there when their legs give in as soon as their feet touch the cold wooden floor. Basira makes a chocked sound when her arms close around Daisy and she sinks against her chest, loose soil raining from her hair and too wide clothes with every ragged breath.

“Get- I need to go outside”, she gasps, “please, Basira”

“Right on it”, Basira assures her, helping Daisy to her feet, “you’ll be fine here without us, right?”, she tells Martin over her shoulder as she half guides, half carries Daisy out of the room and towards the stairs. They barely hear Martin’s reply.

“You want to go outside as well?”, he asks before the ability to form a coherent sentence leaves him for good.

He’s on his knees in front of the coffin, one arm wrapped around Jon, one around Tim, steadying both of them.

Jon merely shakes his head, pressing himself as tightly against Martin as he can, and hiding his face in chest with a chocked whimper when his boyfriend kisses his forehead, then the crown of his head and buries his face in his dirty hair.

“Tim?”, Martin whispers, lifting his head the tiniest bit when Tim keeps silent, merely following Jon’s example and pressing closer to him.

“N-no”, Tim chokes out.

Tim can feel the remainders of what he hopes is merely earth on his tongue and between his teeth and his stomach lurches. He has barely enough time to pull away from Martin, his free hand clamped over his mouth as he turns away.

His grip tightens around Jon’s fingers as he gags violently, bent over the rim of the coffin but nothing comes up and his stomach cramps so badly around nothing, tears prickle in the corners of his eyes. By the time his shoulders stop dry-heaving and he sits back up, breathing still ragged and Martin’s hand still rubbing up and down between his shoulder blades, two wet trails lead down his cheeks and drip dirty water down his chin.

“Would you like some water?”, Martin whispers, tracing his hand up Tim’s shoulder and neck until he can brush the tips of his fingers along his jaw and wipe at the trickle of tears and dirt, “just to rinse out your mouth?”

His thumb slips when Tim nods his head, lower lip trembling despite how hard he presses his lips together. Martin keeps his other arm around Jon as he unscrews two bottles of water and presses one into Tim’s, the other one into Jon’s free hand.

Their hands shake so badly when they lift the bottles to their lips, that they end up spilling water over their hands and chins. Tim just about manages not to sob when he takes his first sip, instead swashing it around his mouth and trying not to swallow the first liquid he’d had in… he doesn’t even want to know. He’d rather know, what to do with his mouthful of mud, not quite gone enough to spit into the coffin. Not now that he knows-

“Here”, Martin hands him Basira’s abandoned cup and Jon his own, “they’re empty, I’ll boil them out tomorrow”

Tim can’t see the discarded water but if the taste on his tongue is anything to go by, it’s probably a foul shade of brown and he has to go through a couple of more swigs before his mouth feels clean enough to actually drink the remaining water. He forces himself to take tiny sips, swallow slowly when his stomach threatens to revolt at the sudden, unbidden liquid going down. Jon beside him doesn’t seem to fare much better, although he finishes his bottle before long and curls back into Martin’s chest while Tim continues to force down mouthful after mouthful.

“Any better?”, Martin asks him when Tim sets down the plastic bottle with shaky fingers, cupping his filthy cheek with the palm of his hand.

“I, I don’t know”, Tim whispers, “I think so, maybe”

“That’s okay, we have all the time in the world”

Jon makes a sound meander between sob and laugh and both of them turn to him. Tim’s lips part and Martin’s heart swells at the sight, Basira’s words ringing in his ears. Jon doesn’t notice either of them, face still buried in Martin’s chest and his thoughts a great deal darker as he keeps silent.

“Tim I-“, Martin tries to go on but shakes his head, “I-“, he starts again, his hand slipping along Tim’s jaw until he cradles the back of his neck in the palm of his hand, a path that is followed almost entirely by muscle memory, and only realizes his head dips forwards when he all but feels Tim’s breath on his face.

He is just about to apologize and pull back, but before he can do either of those things, Tim closes the distance between them and brings up his free hand to touch Martin’s face as their kiss deepens. Jon only looks up when he hears Martin’s breathy sigh and he can’t help himself but smile weakly, even as he carefully sits up and tries to pull back his hand. The only problem is that Tim’s grip tightens instead of loosening.

“And where”, Tim asks, pulling only far enough back to form the words, “do you think you’re going?”

“I”, Jon whispers, “I just-“

“You’re just as stupid as always”, Tim cuts him off, and before Jon can even pretend to be offended, Tim tugs him closer and kisses the rest of his sentence of his lips.

“Hopeless”, he whispers against Jon’s parted lips, an instance before Jon closes that gap between them again, “absolutely hopeless”

“Like you didn’t know what you were getting into”, Martin tells Tim just before he kisses Jon himself and finally, finally hugs both of them as tightly as he can, Tim’s left and Jon’s right arm coming around him as they huddle closer.

“Oh, I don’t know anything”, Tim sighs into Jon’s hair, trying to ignore the earth in his curls, “but I bet you two have a lot to tell me once we get out of here. We’re at the archives, right?”

“Storage”, Jon nods, “we’ll tell you everything later, just right now…”, he trails off, “I honestly don’t think I’d get very far”

His eyes had slipped shut when Tim had kissed him and he has not even bothered to open them again. He feels lightheaded, his arms and legs had been cramping all the way back through the buried but right now, he can’t feel them anymore, not even the sharp pulsing pain in his fingertips. The only feeling that registers at the moment is the sheer weight of his head and body and hair, the smell and feeling of the earth still clinging to him and Tim- and to Martin at this point, who doesn’t seem to be planning of letting go of either of them anytime soon. From the way Tim rests his forehead against Jon’s, not even trying to hold himself up on his own, rather than slumping against him and Martin, he isn’t much better off.

“And you really want Jon doing the explaining on all of this”, Martin agrees, trying to figure out a way of carefully tilting back Jon’s head to be able to look at his face without letting go of either him or Tim.

“Course”, Tim whispers, and the smile on his lips, when he gently nudges his head a little firmer against Jon’s, is as sluggish as his voice, “can’t wait”

“Oh, I’m sure”, Martin laughs softly, looking up just in time to see Basira re-enter the room.

“I- We’re leaving”, she tells them, trying to force her face into a somewhat casual expression, “Daisy’s already waiting at the car, so come on”

“What?”, Jon weakly asks against Tim’s shoulder.

Just the thought of getting up… he can’t even go there in his head right now.

“Well”, Basira says slowly, “you obviously can’t walk all the way to the train station never mind back to your place and no bus or taxi is going to take you like that”

Even Basira and Martin look like they had just emerged from a dust bath and every move Jon, Tim or Daisy make sends soil trickling down to the floor.

“And you can’t stay here. I got a bad feeling about what might happen if we don’t leave soon”, Basira adds, already halfway through the room and kicking the coffin shut by the time she finishes her sentence.

She rewraps the chain around the thing and turns the key inside its lock several times before she takes it out and returns it to its former place in a tiny safety deposit box in the wall behind it. 

“What kind of bad feeling?”, Jon murmurs when she pulls him to his feet and keeps her arm wrapped around his waist when his knees immediately give in, “thank you”

“I’m not sure- let’s just not risk anything else tonight, yeah?”

Their way back upstairs almost feels worse than the climb out of the buried but neither Jon nor Tim say a word about it. Tim only opens his mouth when they finally come to a hold in front of Basira’s tiny, beaten up car and she pulls open the door to the backseat. Casting a look form the cramped backseat, to Daisy and her white-knuckled grip on the door handle, he closes his mouth again, teeth clinking together.

“Tim?”, Martin asks softly. He can’t properly appraise Tim’s expression in the weak morning light and last remainders of the orange glow of the streetlights nearby but he can feel his as well as Jon’s tension all but radiating of them in the cool air of the early morning.

“Bit”, Tim says, forcing himself to smile, “bit claustrophobic”

“I’m sorry about that”, Basira tells him gently, “but I’m afraid, I’m your best shot at getting home”

“I’ll be fine”, Tim says through his fake smile, but he squeezes Jon’s hand right back, “just want a window seat”

“Fine by me”

No one says a word during their drive through the empty streets until, at last, Basira kills the engine in front of the tenement building that houses Martin’s flat.

“Since I’m still technically your boss”, Jon tells Basira from the pavement after they had all thanked her and Daisy, “I’ve decided that we all go on sick leave for at least one week, maybe two. Influenza or something else we have unfortunately passed to each other over the weekend. Wouldn’t want to infect the whole institute”

“I’ll inform Melanie of her sudden illness right away”, Basira promises, one hand linked with Daisy’s between the driver and passenger seat, “and, I know this isn’t enough but thank you, Jon”

“Don’t mention it”

“Come on”, Martin whispers into Jon’s ear and ushers him and Tim into the building. They all pretend not to notice the footsteps they leave on the stairs and hallway in front of Martin’s front door.

“We’ll ruin your sofa”, Jon points out once they’re inside and he’s more or less able to breathe again when Martin urges them to sit down, “and I want to get this off me”

“I wouldn’t mind that either”

Both of them are beyond pale beneath the earth and Martin is pretty sure that, with the adrenalin ebbing down, they won’t be able to remain on their feet much longer. They’re already leaning onto each other heavily enough to question whether either of them would be able to remain standing without the other, but Martin can’t help himself but be smile at the sight.

“Fine”, he sighs, guiding them over to the bathroom.

“You can go first”, Jon tells Tim in front of the shower base, “I’ll just have a quick bath after”

“That’d take ages”

“So what”, Jon doesn’t quite ask, only sways on his feet and Martin steps forward to steady him, his other hand ready to catch Tim, should he falter too, which is only a matter of time at this point, “unless you want to bathe with me, the only alternative’s cat baths over the sink and I doubt, that would work especially well with… this”

“I’ll do your hair if you do mine”, Tim shrugs, then adds, “what, that tub is bigger than your bed and we used to fit there pretty easily”, when Jon merely blinks at him.

“Yes”, Jon allows after a moment, closing his eyes , “but we used to be a, at least somewhat clothed and b, not- we were close then”

“Jon…”, Martin starts but Tim cuts him off with a heavy sigh.

“Look, I know we need to get into that at some point but right now”, and his voice sounds so pained, Jon can’t help himself but open his eyes and look up at him, “right now I just want to get cleaned up, not be alone and pretend everything’s alright. Just for tonight, okay?”

“Okay”, Jon whispers, then adds in a softer tone of voice “get on with it then”

“Martin, are you okay?”, Tim asks, just the tiniest bit amused when he notices Martin’s flushed cheeks.

“Should I- do you-”, he starts, flushes a slightly darker shade of red and squeezes his eyes shut before he starts anew, “I’ll just leave you to that”

“I”, Jon starts, then shakes his head and merely says, “of course”, eyes cast downwards.

“You realize, you can tell him, that you don’t want him to leave”, Tim says softly, then turns back to Martin, “I don’t want you to go either” before Jon can point out, that there’s a not zero percent chance of either of them actually passing out and drowning.

“I’ll stay then”, Martin agrees, doing his best to figure out a way to force the blood out of his cheeks and somewhere else. Preferably his hands or feet, “although I’ll go grab you some clothes first”

When he returns with two sets of joggers and shirts, he finds the others in pretty much the same position, he’d left them in, gently swaying with half-closed lids.

“Can you help me with my shoes, please?”, Jon asks Martin when he asks what’s wrong, “my hands hurt”

“Of course they hurt”, Martin gasps when he takes Jon’s free hand in his and carefully brings it up to his eyelevel, “why didn’t you say anything?”

“Kind of had other things on my mind”, Jon whispers, decidedly not looking at the splintered, blood- and earth crusted tips of his fingers, “it only hurts when I move them”

“How about you two sit down”, Martin suggests as he gently pushes them down onto the rim of the bathtub, “Tim, do you…?”

“Wouldn’t mind a hand”, Tim mutters, leaning into Jon’s side and resting his head against Jon’s, while Martin unties their boots and sets them aside, “just do me a favour and throw them away, or burn them”, he adds when Martin tugs his shirt over his head and as far off as it will go with Tim and Jon still holding hands.

“Later”, Martin promises, as he makes short work of Jon’s shirt, then tugs both of them back to their feet.

“Thank you”, Tim tells Martin, catching his wrist just before he can bent down to gather up the shed jeans and shirts.

“Oh, shut up and get in”, Martin waves them of when Jon echoes Tim’s thanks, opening the tap, “temperature okay?”

“’s good”, Tim sighs as he sinks down, pulling Jon with him, “oh my god, I can’t remember the last time I had a shower”

“I could barely tell”, Jon whispers, head coming to a rest against Tim’s shoulder.

“Like you’re any better”

The tub might take up a third of the bathroom space but sitting side by side along its length still pushes their knees up to their chests and Tim barely manages to sling an arm around Jon and pull him close.

“I never said that”

“Good”, Tim nods, eyes almost slipping shut until he shakes his head, twists onto his knees and reaches out to take the showerhead from Martin’s hand, “now turn around and let me take care of that mess on your head”

His other hand slides around to rest against Jon’s sternum once he too has turned and stretched out his legs in front of him.

“Close your eyes?”

“And give me your hand”, Martin adds when Jon does as he’s told and allows Tim to tilt back his head before he lifts the showerhead up, “I’ll get some antiseptics, okay?”

He places Jon’s wrist on the lip of the tub before he gets up and heads to the kitchen.

“This might sting a bit”, Martin warns once he has crouched down beside the tub, a plastic bowl filled with water and something that gives off a sharp, clinical smell in his hands, and slowly guides his boyfriend’s left hand into the water.

As soon as Jon’s hand is fully submerged in its bowl, a reddish cloud rises from his fingertips, effectively turning the water pink as Martin watches. Even over the sound of running water, Jon’s hiss is clearly audible until he bites it off and clenches his teeth instead while Tim ducks his head and presses a kiss into his dripping wet hair. The water running down Jon’s back has already carried a good deal of soil away and almost runs clean at this point so Tim closes the tap for a moment to reach for the closest shampoo bottle and squeezes a liberal amount into his open palm before he sets to working his fingers through Jon’s hair.

“I’m afraid, you won’t be able to type with these for some time”, Martin tells Jon after his other hand is taken care of as well and he cradles them up to his face beneath the pale light of the ceiling lamp, “but that’s about the worst of it. Tim, do you need… do you have any cuts or something?”

“I think, I’m good”, Tim spares a look at his own hands and shakes his head before he goes back to rinsing Jon’s long strands, “opposed to other people, I did not try to dig over the whole buried in one night”

“I can assure you, I’m in no hurry to repeat that particular experience”

“I should hope so”, Martin tells him firmly before he turns to Tim, “I’ll wash your hair if you want”

“I can-“

“Shut up, Jon”

And maybe it’s the fact that Jon is so beyond exhausted, he’s almost wide awake again, or that he has both Tim and Martin telling him off but he complies and merely allows Tim to pull him back against his chest and hug him close while Martin rolls back his sleeves and starts with Tim’s dirt-matted hair.

\---

By the time Martin has finally reached his goal and made Jon and Tim settle down on the bed, the sun is rising outside in earnest and threading the first rays of sunshine in through the windows. Martin doesn’t even bother with the ceiling lights and switches on the lamp on his nightstand instead.

“Can I get you anything to eat or drink?”, he asks from the foot of the bed, unable to supress his smile at the sight of Jon curled into Tim’s arms and Tim’s forehead resting against the top of his head.

“That’s not an actual question”, Jon informs Tim without opening his eyes, “he’s going to get you something whatever you say, so you might as well think it through”

“You realize, the same applies to you and your answers?”, Martin shoots back, warmth flooding his chest and belly.

“Obviously”, Jon murmurs contently in Tim’s chest, “just waiting for Tim”

“So you don’t have to make a decision”, Tim’s voice deadpans somewhere above Jon’s head.

“Precisely”, he nods, almost without slurring the word although clear articulation becomes harder and harder by the second, “since he won’t let either of us help him with either food or drink”

“ _He’s_ still present, you know”, Martin points out, but his voice is soft and he doesn’t even try to disagree.

“I’m quite aware”, Jon nods seriously just as Tim adds:

“ _He’s_ also adorable and should just come here and join us”

“The sooner-“

“Alright”, Tim interrupts him, smoothing one hand up and down Jon’s side, “Martin, don’t get me wrong but I really don’t want you to feel like you have to-“

“I don’t feel like I’m obliged to do anything. It’s just that, the night Jon came back, he seemed to feel a lot better after he had something warm-“

“What do you mean, came back?”, Tim asks, making to sit up but Jon doesn’t budge and holds onto him until he stops trying.

“A different domain, I’ll tell you later. I’m fine now and Martin is right”, Jon says softly, “I did feel a lot better after I had had some soup and tea”

“Okay”, Tim sighs but even Jon can tell that he’s merely humouring them, “sounds good”

“I’ll be right back”, Martin tells them, fairly relieved that Tim had cut him off, before he’d had to point out, that they would have to keep an eye on putting meat on Tim’s bones anyway.

Jon had looked gaunt after his coma and he was still nowhere back to normal weight, but Tim… Tim was emaciated; barely anything more than skin and bones as Martin had helped him un- and redress. He just hoped they would be able to take care of that themselves, but he would start trying to come up with a plausible story for Tim’s condition should they have to go to the doctor’s.

Neither Tim nor Jon even try and follow Martin towards the kitchen, which in of itself speaks volumes about their state but they have maneuvered themselves into a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard, shoulders pressed together by the time Martin comes back with two steaming cups and bowl of crackers.

“Thank you”, Jon tells Martin with a soft smile when he accepts his mug, bringing it up to his face and inhaling the rich scent.

“Thanks”, Tim says softly over the rim of his own cup.

He wants to add that he’s missed Martin’s tea, missed Martin like crazy in general, even before the unknowing and Jon… he needs to tell Jon so many things but if he starts now, he won’t be able to stop until he’s gotten everything out and Tim knows, that he can’t do that tonight. So he doesn’t say anything else as he sips his tea while Martin returns to the kitchen to get the rest of their food.

“Better?”, Martin asks when they’re done and he collects the empty dishes, setting them down on his dresser before he goes to shut the shudders and casts the room into semidarkness.

“Tired”, Tim amends as he reaches out for Martin’s hand and finally pulls him down onto the bed in front of him and Jon, “but also kind of better, you were right”

“That’s always nice to hear”, Martin says softly enough for the others not to roll their eyes.

“Come here”, Jon tells his boyfriend and tugs at Martin’s arm until he crawls between him and Tim, “I missed you so much”, he whispers into Martin’s ear.

Instead of pulling back after he’s finished, Jon rests his head against Martin’s shoulder.

“Me too”, Martin promises, chest going tight as he speaks, “I was so scared I’d lose you”

He fits one arm around Jon’s middle and hugs him close as Jon exhales shakily and buries his face in the crook of his neck.

“Tomorrow?”, he asks quietly and his breath flows warm against Martin’s skin.

“Of course”, Martin promises before he turns to Tim and asks: “May I…?”

“You don’t have to ask”, Tim says, shifting until Martin can thread his other arm behind his back and pull him into his chest as well, “never have to ask”

“Yeah, I can’t promise you that”

Martin doesn’t say a word when Jon reaches over his stomach and places his hand over Tim’s when he meets him in the middle, but he has to bite his lip in order to keep from smiling.

“Smooth bastard”, Tim sighs fondly, following Jon’s lead and pressing his face into the crook of Martin’s neck.

“Let’s maybe lay down before we go to sleep”, Martin suggests after a couple of minutes.

“Can I-“, Tim starts, squeezing his eyes shut, “do you mind if I stay here tonight?”

“As if we’d kick you out”, Jon scoffs, but his grip around Tim’s hand tightens, the rough gauze and bandages brush against Tim’s skin.

“Never”, Martin adds, carefully shifting until he can lay back against the pillows and take both of them with him.

“Okay”, Tim says and he sounds so relieved, the others pull him closer on instinct.

Martin can tell the moment Tim is overcome by sleep, Jon following soon after, but not before he’s fought to lift up his head and look at Martin beneath leaden lids to echo his “I love you”

Up until Martin’s eyes close and his breath evens out, he feels like his chest might burst with happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah... today's episode.
> 
> More fluff on Sunday, see you then and, as always, thank you for reading adn your lovely comments<3
> 
> Stay safe <3


	14. XIV.

The first time Martin stirs and comes to, he is disorientated and it takes a couple of minutes until the events of the previous day come flooding back. The bedroom is dark behind the closed shudders and Martin’s glasses sit somewhere, probably on his nightstand, out of reach. Although, laying on his back with two warm bodies snuggled into him, basically everything is out of reach except the jumpers covering Tim’s and Jon’s skin directly beneath Martin’s hands.

Jon is on his right as usual and has climbed half on top of Martin like every night; his head rests heavily against Martin’s chest and the rest of his body curves over Martin’s, his right leg thrown over Martin’s right thigh. The only difference to every other morning is that his scarred hand is not resting against Martin’s heart but tangled with Tim’s hand, whose forehead has come to a rest against Jon’s and who too has taken to pressing himself as tightly against Martin’s side as he can.

It’s only at this point that Martin notices that yesterday neither of them had realized that they’d lain down on top of the covers, never mind had thought to free the bedclothes and actually cover themselves before they’d passed out. And Martin has to admit that he is plenty warm in this position without any additional blankets, he just hopes that the others aren’t cold with only one warm body to cuddle up to directly. He has to admit that he doubts that though; both Jon’s and Tim’s bodies are nestled into his arms and sides but they’re lax, only moving the tiniest bit from time to time.

Whenever that happens, Martin brushes the tips of his fingers against the moving body’s side, bending his neck as far as it will go to nuzzle his face in either Jon’s or Tim’s hair and whispers little words of comfort until the face relaxes again and buries back into Martin’s shirt. Only then does Martin let his head fall back against his own pillow and continues to lay as still as he can while, in turn, each of his body parts falls asleep and begs him to get up or even just change his position.

He ignores his body’s complaints and instead turns his mind to the day to come. What they’re going to do is an easy question to answer since Jon and Tim are not going to leave this bed until Martin is satisfied that both of them are completely fine and recovered. Martin himself is going to take care of them; making sure they don’t try anything reckless or stupid which is going to take up a lot more time than Martin looks forward to but he has apparently a knack for falling for sweet, brilliant, kind of stupid, reckless men so he simply resigns himself to that fate. At least he’s just as stubborn as them so that’s probably going to be okay.

The thought of what they’re going to have to talk about comes just as unbidden as it comes without warning and Martin can’t help himself but sigh quietly, casting a look from Tim to Jon, then back to the ceiling when his neck starts aching form the strange angle he has to hold it in order to look at them. Martin really doesn’t want to think about this, never mind make a plan but he isn’t willing to actually get up to do something and wake them up either.

Even at the end of a normal day, Jon usually falls into bed and goes to sleep almost before Martin has switched off the lights, and that is after an evening spent doing nothing but watching telly after they’d come home from the archives. Cutting last night’s sleep short by more than six hours would have been bad on a normal day but spending the remainder of the night crawling through the buried and dragging Tim and Daisy back out…

Needless to say, Martin will not make a move that could startle and wake Jon if he can help it at all. And Tim? Martin doesn’t know whether one slept or even needed to sleep whilst being trapped in a domain but he doubts both. If the statements he’s read this far are anything to go by, nonstop, unending fear is rather the point and realising a victim by letting them die of starvation, dehydration or sleep deprivation seems counterintuitive.

Martin tries not to be thankful for that. Not when he looks at Tim and sees little but too pale skin stretched too tightly over sharp bones or when he just thinks about the look in his eyes before he’d fallen asleep. Maybe it would have been kinder for Tim to die in the explosion instead of following Daisy down the stairs into the coffin, probably even but- but he’s back now. He’s still alive, is still _Tim_ and he _can_ get better, maybe. Martin is going to do his darndest to try and make that happen at least. He has somehow managed to get two… two people out of two different domains, Jon twice just by- he is _not_ going to give up on either of them and he is not letting Tim give up either.

Jon makes a soft sound in his sleep, body going taut against his boyfriend’s and Martin turns his head to look down at him, stretch his neck and just about brush his lips against the top of his head, whispering soft things into his hair that are almost words. Only when Jon relaxes again, muttering something indistinct into Martin’s chest, does Martin dare to breathe normally again.

He wonders quietly what time it is; the bedroom is cast into semidarkness with the closed curtains and the weak lamp beside the bed casting a gentle glow over the room. The alarm clock is placed on the nightstand at just the wrong angle for him to make out it’s clockface. It doesn’t really matter, Martin supposes. He wagers that several hours had passed since they’d lain down in the first place though. All of them had been spent, even Martin himself although he had had by far the easiest part. He shifts the tiniest bit, the last movement he allows himself for the next couple of hours, somehow managing to doze off again at some point.

\---

The next time Martin’s eyes blink open, he has just about properly come to when Jon stirs beside him. Martin can pretty much pinpoint the moment his boyfriend wakes up because Jon goes completely still, holding his breath when he find himself face to face with Tim, who doesn’t so much as stir.

Jon’s hand wants to reach up and touch the painfully familiar face and hair in front of him, but he has barely moved the tips of his fingers, when he notices the warm hand in his and he lies still instead, hardly daring to breathe while he watches Tim’s lashes flutter in the semidarkness.

Martin doesn’t make a sound, lest he startles his boyfriend and it doesn’t take long before Jon very, very slowly moves his head and tilts it back to look up at Martin, who feels him exhale more than he hears it.

“Hi”, Martin breathes and Jon’s face lights up as he echoes the word, “How are you feeling?”

“Fine, I suppose”, Jon whispers back, “I feel- I’m kind of stiff and aching all over but I’ll live”

“I’d thought so”, Martin says softly, hugging Jon a bit tighter to his side, “do you need anything?”

“Maybe something to drink, I’m still a bit parched, but it’s not important. I’ll go-“

“You’re not going anywhere until you’re back to normal”, Martin cuts him off softly, “I can get you whatever you need until then and I really don’t want you putting more strain on yourself”

“Fine”, Jon sighs, half because Martin still has that look in his eyes he’d first gotten when Jon had told him, he’d go into the buried and get Tim and Daisy back, half because his entire body feels heavy and sore, even turning his head almost felt like too much, “just tell me if it gets too much for you, okay?”

“Jon-“

“Just promise me not to burn yourself to the ground whilst”, Jon insists, careful to keep his voice low but a little colour returns to his cheeks when he finishes, “whilst taking care of us, yeah?”

“I promise”, Martin agrees after a beat, “I’ll tell you if I find myself out of my depth”

“Speaking of”, Jon whispers, casting his gaze from Martin to Tim, then back again, “how exactly are you planning on getting anyone anything like this?”

“Fair point”, Martin agrees, “I’ve been wondering for some time”

“How long have you been awake for?”

“Not long. I woke up earlier and couldn’t go back to sleep for some time but I don’t know when that was, can’t really tell the time of day from here”

Martin bites his lower lip as soon as the words are out but before he can say anything else, Jon pushes himself up with a grimace and cranes his neck until he can just about glimpse the alarm clock’s display.

“It’s ten”

“PM?”

“AM”

“No wonder you’re thirsty”

“I’m kind of amazed you haven’t gone crazy like this”, Jon points out, ignoring Martin’s last statement as he lays back down.

“I was in good company”

“Really.”

“Fine”, Martin admits, “I had a lot to think about”

“For example?”, Jon asks, then turns his head to rest against Martin’s shoulder, “do you want to have your arm back? You must be extremely uncomfortable”

“I’m fine, love”

The pet name just slips out and before Martin can backpedal and Jon’s face lights up. Jon somehow manages to school his face into a neutral expression and raises an eyebrow, as if he could fool anyone into thinking he’s anything but in seventh heaven.

“Your entire body must be asleep”

“Only a little bit”, Martin admits, cheeks pink and Jon laughs softly.

“What were you thinking about then?”

“Kind of everything?”

“How enlightening”

“Well, you know”, Martin says helplessly, “What I can do to help you and Tim get better, what we’re going to do about Elias. I doubt he’s just doing nothing and is going to let us move on”

“I was wondering the same thing”

“Were you now? You and Tim were out before either of us thought to get a blanket or anything yesterday”

“I can multitask, you know”

Martin has to try very hard not to laugh out loud and risk disturbing Tim but judging from Jon’s face, his efforts aren’t exactly cutting it face-wise.

“I didn’t exactly manage to think of anything”, Martin finally admits, eyes cast down, “not when we still have no clue what exactly Elias’ great plan is going to be – and I’m sure there’s something”

“He’s too much of a cunning bastard to not have thought about every possible turn of events”, Jon agrees darkly.

“That’s about as far as I got as well”

“I could try to know again”, Jon eventually suggests without any real conviction.

“What about we wait with that until you can properly sit up on your own?”

“Fine”, Jon sighs, turning his head back to face Tim, “with Elias. I could try for Tim though”

“Jon, you straining yourself right now… and we don’t even know how Tim’s feeling right now, not before he wakes up”, Martin points out in a soft voice, following Jon’s gaze, “he might be completely fine”

“And if he’s not? We could-“

But Martin never finds out what Jon wants them to do, because Tim stirs at his side just then, breath catching in the back his throat when he turns his head and eyes futtering open while his whole body tenses up.

Jon’s mouth snaps shut as he watches Tim blink in the twilight, forcing himself not to wince when Tim’s grip around his hand tightens on instinct.

“Hey”, Jon whispers, trying to swallow around the sudden dryness sticking his tongue to the roof of his mouth and fusing his lips together when Tim’s eyes fix on him.

“Hi”, Tim exhales after a handful of seconds and most of the tension seeps out of his muscles, “Hey, Martin” he adds in an even softer voice, tipping his head backwards just far enough to almost be able to gaze up at Martin.

His eyes flutter shut when Martin brushes his lips against the top of his head and lets it tip forwards again until his forehead comes to a rest against Jon’s. Jon presses back, finally daring to smooth the pad of his thumb along Tim’s hand and clenching his teeth around the sound that wants to push through his lips. He’s not quite sure, whether he’s holding back a laugh, a sob or something in between and he doesn’t want to find out when he has the feeling of Tim’s skin against his forehead and fingers and Tim’s breath flowing against his nose and cheeks to focus on.

Tim starts when Jon moves his hand but he relaxes his arm when he realizes that Jon is not letting go but merely tugging up Tim’s hand with his own to brush his knuckles against Tim’s warm cheek.

“Okay?”, he whispers but instead of answering, Tim lets his eyes slip back shut and leans into the touch as far as he can without actually moving.

Every movement sends a dull throbbing pain through his body and even breathing is kind of uncomfortable, but that might just be the angle he’s holding his neck in. Martin’s chest makes for a fantastic pillow though and Jon-

“…Tim? Tim, can you hear me?”

“’m sorry, what?”, Tim rasps when Martin repeats his name, reaching around Jon to let his fingers hover over Tim’s jaw not quite daring to make contact.

“I was just asking whether you’re hungry or needed anything? Whether you’re in pain right now?”

“Bit”, Tim half laughs, half winces when he tries to shrug.

“A bit hurt or a bit hungry?”

“Kinda everything”, Tim whispers when Martin does make up his mind and gently touch his face, “not that bad though”

“Of course not”, Martin says and Tim doesn’t have to see his face to be able to tell that he’s rolling his eyes, “I’ll go get you and Jon something, okay?”

“Stay”, Tim whispers, vaguely aware how childish it comes out but the soft touch against his face doesn’t stop or pull away and he decides not to care about how he sounds.

“Jon will stay with you”, Martin makes himself say, “you two need to eat”, but he relents almost as soon as the last words have passed his lips and neither Tim nor Jon make any move to let go, “I guess it can wait a couple of minutes”

Martin is as careful as he can be when he tightens his hold around both Tim and Jon and pulls both of them closer to his chest. He can feel their ribs far too easily through the thick jumpers when he brushes his hands against their sides.

\---

Martin does finally disentangle himself when Jon’s voice becomes just the tiniest bit more slurred and Tim takes to humming instead of actually answering when asked a question. They let go easily enough and Martin wonders whether he’s the only one feeling the sharp pang in his chest when his bare feet touch the cold floor and he gets up.

“I thought, I’d crack open a window?”, he asks towards the bed but doesn’t receive an answer apart from a vague hum he’s almost sure is Jon’s.

“Don’t fall asleep again”, Martin tells them, hands on his hips but there’s hardly any reply at all, “you two need to eat and I’m not above dumping cold water over you to wake you back up”

The sky outside is dark and overcast when Martin pulls back the curtains and opens the window wide. Cool air wafts in almost immediately, along with the sounds of traffic and Martin decides to tilt it instead; the last thing they need right now is someone catching a cold.

“I’ll be right back”, Martin announces to no one in particular and he can’t help but smile when he gets two groggy thank yous in return, just as he leaves the bedroom and heads to the kitchen.

Behind him, Jon stays still for a couple of seconds, not quite daring to scoot closer and Tim doesn’t move either. Their hands remain interlaced and the mere thought of letting go has Tim feeling cold all over, has his breath catch in the back of his throat. Jon has similar thoughts but in the end it’s him who carefully tugs at Tim’s hand. Their heads rest against the pillows now, and when they turn their heads, their eyes are on the same level but there’s a bigger gap between them than earlier. They’re more awake than earlier as well and their decisions can’t entirely be passed up as desperate exhaustion and tiredness; they are going to have to talk, and soon but right now even these couple of inches between them feel like too much and Tim is happy enough to meet Jon in the middle, fit his aching arms around him and hold him close as Jon’s arms slowly come up around his neck.

It’s not that the pain and exhaustion vanishes as soon as Jon’s arms close around Tim, but their edges soften and just like that the desperate cacophony behind their eyes seems to quieten down, the horrors that fill their minds to pale just a bit, just enough to be able to push them away.

“Cold?”, Tim asks when Jon shivers in his arms.

“I”, Jon sighs, closing his eyes, “I’m always a kind of cold these days, bit of a leftover from… I’m fine as soon as someone I- someone’s there with me”

“Meaning Martin?”

“You too”

There’s another pause, only broken by Tim’s sharp intake of breath and the sound of fabric rustling when he pulls Jon tighter against his chest.

“Leftover from what?”

“The domain Martin got me out of”, Jon mutters after a short pause, then adds “the end”

“Meaning death”

It’s not a question but Jon finds himself nodding against Tim’s shoulder, decidedly not pulling back to see his face.

“Wanna elaborate a bit on that, boss?”, Tim asks, trying to keep his voice light and only notices his slipup, when Jon freezes in his arms.

“Sorry”, he whispers, hugging Jon tighter, “sorry, you know, I didn’t mean to-“

He wants to kiss Jon again, his hair, his forehead and cheeks that used to be soft and kind of chubby way back when. His always too dry lips that still feel like heaven against Tim’s whenever- especially the last time. Kissing had always worked when Jon had gotten flustered, had always grounded him against Tim and turned the pent up energy into a happy sigh. But that’s probably out of the question now.

“Yes, yes of course, I’m sorry”

“Jon, you’re not supposed to answer my apology by saying sorry”

“I- I…, well”, Jon sighs, still not making any moves to pull away from Tim, “I can elaborate though if- if you want. It’s kind of-“

“Kind of a long story?”, Tim asks and breathing becomes a little easier when Jon can hear the smile in his voice, “lucky for you, I got practice just listening to you”

And Tim does listen quietly to everything that has happened since the unknowing, and it does not sting in the slightest how happy Jon and Martin had been ever since Martin had literally kissed him awake. Not in the slightest, not at all.

To Jon’s credit, he doesn’t dwell on the bliss that is being with Martin Blackwood - he mostly just repeats what he and Martin had already told Basira and Melanie and - and his voice remains level nearly all the way through. It only wavers when he tells Tim about his dream / vision of Tim and Daisy trapped deep within the buried and promises over and over again that he had not known. That he would have tried to get them out weeks ago if he’d had the faintest clue.

“We- _I_ missed you so, _so much_ ”, Jon finally whispers into Tim’s chest and, barely managing to get the words out, adds, “I’ve been missing you ever since I accepted Elias stupid offer”

“I missed you too”, Tim finally admits, more to himself than Jon, “would have much rather stayed in research with you”

“I- I know and I’m so, so sorry, I should have never asked you-“

“You didn’t have to ask at all; I was going to transfer with you before you’d even finished telling me – and don’t tell me, you should have tried and stopped me, that was never gonna work”

“Perhaps not”, Jon whispers, “but I should not have tried my best to push you and Sasha away whenever I got the chance”

“It’s not like I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, Jon. We’d talked about this and your…”, even now the corner of Tim’s mouth tweaks into a weak grin somewhere above Jon’s head but it’s tinged with sadness, “your attempt of being a respectable head archivist who doesn’t fraternize with his staff”

“I- I can hardly understand why you even bothered to stay close to me after that”

“Firstly, you were never going to be rid of me that easily, something I shared with… with Sasha and neither of us was going to give up on- on our best friend”, Tim clears his throat as quietly as he can, “secondly, you’re about the worst liar of all time. Do you really think, I bought you’re whole ‘I’m fine on my own and I don’t need anyone’ charade for a second? Especially after we- well”

“In my defence, I was working really hard to believe it myself”, Jon sighs softly, “and it all got so much almost straight away. I honestly don’t think we could have spent much more time together even if I had not had my heart set on being an absolute prick to everyone”

“At least that ‘everyone’ very much included Elias- what’s that bastard up to these days anyway? Kind of surprised he didn’t come sauntering down the stairs to the archives when we got out”

“Martin’s got him arrested after the- after they got me into hospital. Had him escorted right out of my room apparently”

“Well, someone had to”, Martin points out from the door, a honest to god tray bowing just the tiniest bit beneath a small army of cups and bowls and cutlery that finds a new home on the dresser beside the door, “although I admit, I should have brought a camera and videotaped him getting punched in the throat”

“You should come back here”, Tim corrects, unwrapping one arm around Jon and blindly reaching out in Martin’s general direction and waggling his fingers.

“That too”

Martin is somewhat glad neither Jon nor Tim turns his head to look at him and spot the dark red his ears surely must have flushed or the way his posture had relaxed when Tim had made as if to reach for him.

“As soon as you two either sit up or enlighten me how exactly you’re supposed to have breakfast like that”

Tim groans but doesn’t lower his hand, not until Martin reaches the bed and takes Tim’s hand into his and he half-heartedly tries to pull Martin back onto the bed.

“Careful”, Martin says softly when he tugs on Tim’s hand who lets go of Jon with an unhappy sound and lets himself be pulled upright.

“Thanks”

Jon too accepts his boyfriend’s hand but he doesn’t let go until he has pressed his lips against Martin’s knuckles and wrist while Tim wraps his arm back around his waist, fighting to blink his eyes open wider. His and Jon’s head tip backwards to rest against the headboard, hair mussed over tired eyes and pallid skin.

By the time Martin presses two full bowls into Jon’s and Tim’s hands, adding, “careful, it’s hot”, they are awake enough to not drop the dishes straight away.

“I thought, you didn’t like porridge?”, Tim asks, both hands cupped around his bowl, relishing the heat.

“Not particularly”, Martin shrugs, carefully lowering himself onto the mattress in front of Tim and Jon, cradling a bowl of cereal in his own hands, “just had a lot of that stuff laying around and you and Jon like it so…”, he trails off with a shrug, feigning interest in his own breakfast.

Neither Tim nor Jon _need_ to know that he had gotten used to stocking the stuff and packet over packets of Earl Grey when he and Tim still regularly spent the weekend at each other’s place. He had only noticed he had kept buying the stuff when he couldn’t fit any more packets into that particular drawer and spent far too long just stood in the middle of his kitchen, starring down at the packet of porridge in his hand.

“I hope, it’s alright?”, he eventually asks when both Jon and Tim keep quiet.

“Of course”, Jon tells him softly and adds a “thank you”, but both sounds more like ‘Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?’ to Martin.

The guilty look in Jon’s eyes is enough to confirm that reading but Martin doesn’t say anything about it. Not knowing anything about his boyfriend has become harder and harder ever since Jon had woken up from his coma and right now wasting energy on that would be stupid. Martin simply files it under something else they’ll have to talk about at some point. Like so much else.

“It’s really good”, Tim says into the silence following the short exchange, casting his eye from Jon to Martin as inconspicuously as he can, and willing himself not to ask.

It’s none of his business after all and… it’s almost a relief to find that everything about Jon remains as weird as ever. They eat in silence for some time, Jon and Tim don’t even protest the seconds Martin hands them without asking, sweet with heavy cream and cinnamon, although Jon laughs softly and presses a quick kiss to Martin’s cheek when he accepts the bowl. Tim only notices he’s starring when Jon turns to him and asks whether he’s alright in a soft tone of voice.

The same tone of voice he’d used during the last weeks in research; before the archives and whatever kind of avalanche Jon’s accepting the post had triggered. The same tone of voice he’d had when he’d told Tim about the promotion and that Elias had pretty much made it clear to him that he’d either become the next head archivist or transfer to storage - which was as good as threatening to fire him. And Tim had told the truth; back then he had ruffled Jon’s short, slicked back hair and joked about Elias being scared that no one (male) was ever going to accept Gertrude’s vacated post willingly and skipping right to harsh mores to make sure Jon did. He had also immediately told Jon that, of course he would transfer with him even when Jon had said-

It’s been a long time since Tim had been on the receiving end of that tone of voice, and hearing it now, something snaps inside his chest, a last sort of dam keeping everything that had and almost had happened between them at bay and it takes Tim a moment before he’s able to speak again. A longer moment before he actually manages to piece together a coherent answer.

“Everything’s good”, he tells Jon and even though the crack in his voice betrays him, he adds, “I’m fine, golden”

“Then I must be doing something wrong”, Jon says, voice light but serious, ignoring the others’ worried stare, “because I feel like I’ve been run over by a bus”

“I-“, Tim starts, then starts over, “a bit, yeah”

Jon hums softly and Tim can’t help himself but ask;

“I’m sorry, but since when do _you_ openly talk about your feelings?”

“Couple of weeks?”, Jon shrugs, face screwing up the tiniest bit, “apparently being with Martin tends to make me ‘not have my head up my arse’ all the time, according to the others at least. I found it’s remarkably helpful to actually articulate one’s feelings rather than bottling everything up all the time and trying to isolate myself”

“That would have been helpful some time ago”, Tim finds himself saying but by the time he realizes, he can’t take the words back.

And it’s not like he _wants_ to take them back, or like he wants to apologize and be forgiven- most of all he just doesn’t want to have this conversation. Not now, not ever. Talking about their time at the archives before the Prentiss thing was one thing; there had been little enough grief between them then and most of it had been because of his and Jon’s last couple of weeks in research.

After almost two years of first working together - aka spending countless hours together bent over files and keyboards, cold winter nights shivering side by side on their way to a somewhat affordable pub or takeout place then back to Tim’s place and more or less sunny days in the park with the work they had not quite managed to finish during regular hours spread out on cheap picknick blankets or sun bleached benches and tables – and slowly becoming best friends had lead into flushed cheeks and wide eyes, breath catching in the back of their throats and fingertips always on the search for a bit of skin but jerking away every time they made actual contact.

The build-up to their first kiss, a quick, sweet thing, lips hardly parting as Jon had barely dared to touch Tim’s face, stretched up on the tip of his toes, Tim’s hands lightly resting against his hips and burning through the fabric of Jon’s slacks as he had steadied him, had been ridiculous; the last two weeks leading up to it had seen Jon barely managing to string together a coherent sentence around Tim while Tim hardly dared to touch him at all where beforehand he’d used every excuse to lean in close when Jon asked him about his opinion on a statement or information he’d managed to obtain, to press his shoulder against Jon’s when they walked side by side or let his touch linger whenever he pretended to dust Jon’s blazers or adjust the stupid scarfs and neckerchiefs that came up as soon as the first chill was in the air in autumn. Not that that had helped with Jon shivering in his coat and gloves as soon as he went outside on every day that wasn’t between June and September but hey, that had just been another chance for Tim to drape his own jacked around Jon’s sharp shoulders and, when it got really cold around January, even wrap an arm around Jon’s waist and quietly enjoy him huddling close while they hurried along the busy streets.

Things had not moved particularly faster after their first kiss either. Their routines had barely changed at all, apart from Jon actually daring to seek out contact himself and press himself against Tim whenever he offered while Tim more often than not caught his own reflection grinning back at him whenever he walked past a reflective surface. At least the awkward dance of Jon sleeping on the couch or in Tim’s bed, that had been a farce since Jon had discovered how actually horribly uncomfortable that piece of furniture was, could be finally laid to rest and there had been a lot more kissing.

They had not defined anything during the first two weeks of this and before they’d had any chance to change that, Elias had offered Jon his promotion and they’d transferred and- and suddenly they were no longer colleagues quietly sidestepping the official guidelines but superior and employee and Jon had pulled back, feeling cold all over whenever he met Tim’s eyes and neither of them quite managed to hide their hurt in turn. It had gotten better again, the sharp yearning had died down into a dull ache and a vague coldness between them but it had been alright- at least it had been supposed to be.

The real shit show had started when Martin had stumbled upon Gertrude’s body and Jon had-

“I know”, Jon whispers, casting his eyes downwards, “I’m, o god Tim, I’m so sorry. I know, I can never-”

“Don’t”, Tim cuts him off, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head, “I don’t want to talk about that”

“Tim…”, Martin says softly, but Tim merely presses his lips together, fingers closing tightly around the empty bowl, “we don’t have to do this now”

“ _No_ ”

The bowl snaps between Tim’s hands with a hard crack, almost drowning out the word and Tim stars down at it, mortified.

“Shit, sorry”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it”, Martin assures him as he reaches out towards Tim, but doesn’t quite touch Tim’s wrists when his hands shake badly enough to send the shards clinking together, “are you hurt?”

Tim shakes his head again, lips a thin, pale line while Jon carefully picks up the broken pieces with his bandaged fingers and drops them into his own, empty bowl. He hands it to Martin, who in turn pushes the bowl towards the foot of the bed.

“You want to lay back down?”, Martin goes on when Tim remains still, tension radiating off his body, “maybe sleep a bit more? We can talk when-“

“ _I don’t want to talk_ ”, Tim interrupts Martin, “not at all. It doesn’t make a difference anyway”

“Tim-”, Jon starts but too is cut off.

“What are we going to say, hm? Do you want to talk about how we thought we could have died in the tunnels? About how we got eaten by worms and how Elias spent every moment since you took over for Gertrude trying to gaslight and isolate you? About how the stranger sent that fucking monster and it cranked your paranoia up to eleven and you thought I could- I could ever _hurt_ you? About how I lost it when you spiralled further and further? How awful I was to everyone even after you- and what I said to you and Martin?”, Tim’s voice becomes more strained with every word, and Jon desperately wants to just pull him into his arms and hold so tightly everything becomes right again but he hardly dares to move, to blink as he stares at Tim’s chest rising and falling in uneven bouts of breath, Martin feels much the same way, but he too sticks to watching Tim, “talking about this won’t help”

“And what do you want to do instead?”, Martin asks softly, “we can’t just ignore everything that happened if-“

“What exactly do you think did I do in- in there?”, Tim asks, voice breaking between the words, “Do you think, there was a second when I didn’t think about everything that went down between us? When I didn’t wish I could take back everything I’d said? And I- I”, Tim cuts himself in, hands balled into fists and still not looking at either Martin or Jon, when he forces himself to take a deep breath, going on in a slightly calmer tone of voice. About how furious he had been at first, clawing his way through the earth until fury burned itself out into despair and how helpless he’d been to do anything, how alone he’d been.

“I would have done anything to get back to you- just for a second to tell you that I was sorry”, Tim finally half-whispers, half-sobs, “funny how something like that forces perspective onto you, isn’t it?”

“You had nothing to be sorry about, Tim”, Jon tells him reaching out one hand but letting it hover over Tim’s hand until Tim nods, “if I- if I had been less of a paranoid asshole and hadn’t pushed all of you away, we would have been fine”

“Kinda hard with that- that Sasha-thing messing with your head and fucking up your perceptions”

“As if I hadn’t been holding you at arms-length way before that”, Jon whispers, brushing the tip of his thumb over a cluster of pale round scars on Tim’s wrist.

“Like you told me, you would before we transferred”, Tim mutters although the words sting almost worse than the scars had done directly after Prentiss attack, “I just, I just thought, I’d get you to break that”

“I can be remarkably stubborn”

“ _Can_ ”, Martin mutters and Jon can’t himself but laugh out loud, squeezing Tim’s hand in his.

“And I’m so, so sorry”, Jon says, although he feel’s Tim tense up beside him, “I know, you said-“

“Forget about it”, Tim sighs, suddenly just incredibly tired, moving his thumb to hook around Jon’s and hold his hand in place, never once taking his eyes of their joined hands, “I don’t- say it if it helps but it’s not like…”, he trails off and Jon freezes beside him.

“I-“, he starts but there’s nothing he can say, if Tim-

“Not like that”, Tim heaves a bigger sigh, finally lifting his head to face Jon, “it’s not like I still hold a grudge about that after being in there and… not after you and Martin got me out”

“Tim…”, Jon whispers, slowly reaching up to touch Tim’s face and pushing his fringe out of his eyes, “just because-“

“You crawled through a literal hellscape for me”

“I didn’t do that to get even with you, I- I could have never left you and Daisy in there and this doesn’t even out the way I treated you”

“And hanging onto the past doesn’t help either”, Tim points out, eyes slipping shut as he leans into Jon’s touch, “Jon, I’m just so tired. I can’t keep going through this and I- I just want to go on with you and Martin. I missed you two so, so much and if I could, I would go back in time before any of this happened and somehow get all of us out of that goddamn institute, but I can’t. We both fucked up and I’m pretty sure if it weren’t for the tapes and me being- me being in there I would have never snapped out of it but I did, you started trusting us again and Martin- well Martin just continues to be his amazing self, so please, _please_ can we just- can we just move on?”

“Are- are you sure? You really don’t have to-“

“I’m not saying we have to pretend none of this has happened. I’m just asking you whether we can stop letting it stand between us and just try again, I- I just need to know you don’t hate me after everything”

“Why does everyone think I hate them?”, Jon asks, voice incredulous and so put off, Martin can’t help himself but laugh.

“Well-“

“Of course I don’t”, Jon cuts him off, “I never have and I don’t think I ever could. I- I just hope I can prove to you I’ve changed”

“Jon, no offense, but you’re willingly talking about your feelings, you trust Martin enough to be your anchor whilst going into an ancient fear-domain. If it weren’t for your stupid accent, I’d hardly recognize you”

“Tim-“

“Just kidding”, Tim reassures him in a slightly more sober tone of voice, “well, it’s the truth but, you know”

“I”, Jon starts, then exhales slowly and goes on hesitantly, “I think I do, actually”

There’s a short pause and just as Martin opens his mouth, Jon’s posture changes and without a word pulls Tim into his arms, the tips of his fingers digging into his shoulder blades and back.

“I missed you too”, Jon whispers when Tim hugs him back just as tightly, “so, so bloody much. I thought- oh my god I thought I’d driven you off for good”

“Bad weeds grow tall”, Tim whispers back, turning his head until his nose brushes against Jon’s, breath flowing against his parted lips for a beat before they close the distance and Tim’s hands move upwards to cradle Jon’s face closer to his own, “as if you’d get rid of me that easily – under normal circumstances”, he whispers against Jon’s lips when they can finally stand to pull apart, pupils blown wide and cheeks flushed.

“Getting back to normal circumstances is kind of the plan”, Martin says from somewhere in front of them and the smile is audible in his voice, “do you want me to go give you some-“

One of Tim’s hands leaves his spot on the small of Jon’s back and reaches into Martin’s direction, hand opening and closing as if he were trying to grab Martin’s collar.

“Get in here”, Tim orders and just for a moment, the old Timothy Stoker shines through and Martin has closed the distance between them almost without noticing.

Tim and Jon only separate far enough to both wrap and arm around Martin and pull him into their embrace, holding onto him and each other as tightly as they can, which isn’t all that tight yet but Martin has no intention of leaving, so he too slings one arm around each of their waists. His eyes flutter shut when Tim brushes a kiss against his cheek, then turns his head to catch his lips instead.

“So”, Tim says faux-casually when they finally break apart again and leans back against the headboard with a slight wince, his right arm remaining slung around Jon’s shoulder and pulling him along, his other hand linking with Martin’s and tightly squeezing his fingers between his own, “tell me how exactly you two finally got over yourselves?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and your lovely comments!
> 
> You can expect three more chapters of more or less pure fluff, then we'll move on plotwise.


	15. IV.

Timothy Stoker, Martin decides on Thursday morning, is a lot better at letting people take care of him than Jonathan Sims, which really shouldn’t be a surprise at this point. It still feels pretty good to point out to Jon on that very same Thursday morning when he insists on helping Martin prepare breakfast, bare feet and toes just barely sticking from under the hem of yet another pair of Martin’s joggers, yet another of Martin’s t-shirts hanging off his tiny shoulders far enough to expose his entire shoulder and hint at his collarbones and elbow.

“I’m fine, Martin”, Jon tells him in return, arms crossed in front of his chest and grey-black curls sticking out in every direction, “it’s been four days, I’m good”

And he _is_. He had barely left their bed at all since collapsing into it in the early hours of Friday morning alongside Tim, had done barely anything but eat and sleep curled up with Tim and Martin whenever he joined them. The teeth-clenching, fist-balling soreness is almost gone; there’s still a slight twinge when he moves too fast but apart from that he feels pretty much like he had felt before he had entered the buried. A bit tired, a bit weak and sore but that’s hardly anything if he thinks back to the last weeks and months before the unknowing- if he thinks back to any time since he had become the head archivist.

There’s also Tim and his lovely warm hands rubbing circles into Jon’s back and pressing little kisses to his skin whenever he gets close enough and Martin rubbing his arms and shoulders when he as much as make a face whilst rolling over or getting up - and it’s hard to feel anything but warm and gooey and good when he’s at the receiving end of that kind of attention or giving it back, which is rapidly becoming Jon’s favourite past time.

“Tell that to your hands, love”

The sun is already pretty high up in the sky but it’s still chilly outside and the windows fog over as soon as they’re pushed open. Inside the little flat however, it’s warm and safe, especially when Jon trudges over to the stove and wraps his arms around Martin’s waist from behind and buries his face in the nape of his neck, just beneath the light, ginger curls bouncing along every movement Martin makes, still sleep-limp and ruffled.

“They’re in good enough shape to carry a set of plates. Come one, Martin, it’s not like I’m sick or gravely injured. Just let me help you with anything- you’ve barely done anything than lackeying us since we got back”, he closes the last word off with a kiss, pressed just between two moles trailing along the slight curve of Martin’s spine, vanishing into his hair on one and, beneath the collar his pyjama-jacket on the other end.

“I spend half the day lounging about with you and Tim”, Martin points out, fighting the urge to either laugh or turn around and kiss Jon right back, as he switches off the stove and gives the eggs a final good stir before emptying the contends of the pan onto three plates amidst the waiting toast.

“Yeah, making sure we’re comfortable and watching over us while we sleep to make sure we don’t get nightmares and otherwise running around and getting us everything we want before we even think of it”, Jon corrects, placing on hand on Martin’s forearm and closing his fingers around his sleeve, “you’ve been amazing and we’re both lucky to have you but you have to take a break yourself at some point. I feel fine, I really do and Tim’s getting better too. There’s no need to break your back for us and not let anyone help you”

“I just-“, Martin starts, then heaves a sigh and Jon can both watch and feel his shoulders deflate in front of him, “I just wanted to do anything helpful, you know, do my part after you did all the work getting Tim and Daisy out and-“

“You realize, you and Basira are literally the reason we got out in the first place right? That we would have had no chance of finding our way back without you-“

“We were chitchatting and drinking tea, hardly digging our way through an underground hell-scape. Compared to you three, we did nothing”

“You worked through your feelings with Basira there. Me and Tim both felt the moment you admitted them to yourself, that’s not nothing. And you got me out of my coma a well. You literally rescued both of us, there’s nothing anyone of us has on you”

By the time Martin manages to work out what to reply, Jon has let go of him, eased the tray out of his hands, kissed his cheek and stepped out of his reach.

“Sneak”

Jon merely blows him a kiss, taking another step backwards but his face softens as he looks up at his boyfriend.

“I was telling you the truth though, you believe that right?”

“Bit hard not to when I know people are lying to me”, Martin shrugs.

“You don’t sound all that thrilled about it”

“I- it’s just kind of weird? And _I_ disagree with what you’re saying but- but I guess that’s not what matters with this”, Martin mutters as he picks up three cups and follows Jon towards their bedroom.

“You can ask Tim, what he thinks, make a survey out of it?”, Jon suggests just before they enter and carefully sets down the tray.

“Ask me what?”, Tim asks from where he’s leaning back against the headboard, one arms loosely slung around his legs and chin resting on top of his knees as he watches the screen of his phone.

There’s a gigantic crack splitting the display almost in half and countless dents and chips all over the thing but it still works, somehow. Tim’s wallet too had made it back, filthy and raining dry earth even as Martin had wrestled it out of his the pocket of his jeans the day after he had come back. He had nearly tossed it back onto the bathroom floor amidst the rest of Tim’s and Jon’s clothes, still laying in the exact same spot where they had been dropped the previous night, thinking that it would probably be empty and rotted beyond repair. He had opened it on a whim though and there they were, Tim’s cards and money and the thousand receipts and scrawled notes he never got around to throwing out.

Apart from Tim’s phone and wallet, Jon’s shoes, keys and keyring had been the only things they had kept from the dusty heap, spreading more earth around the floor every second just by laying there. The rest of their clothes had been stuffed into a clear garbage bag and unceremoniously thrown out the next time, their garbage had been collected and Martin’s wardrobe had acquired yet another user, not that Martin minded.

Tim had not brought the keys to his flat along when they had departed for the wax-museum but left them in a drawer of his desk, where it would stay until the three of them returned to work in a week or so. Once they had retrieved the keys however, they would probably pay Tim’s old flat a visit, maybe get some of his things or all of them if- there’s still so much they need to talk about. But now Tim reaches over, his face barely screwing up, to drop his phone on the nightstand and beams up at his boyfriends.

“I love you”, he tells Martin seriously when he is handed a cup of oversweet tea and cups his hands around Martin’s because he has spent so long not allowing himself to either say or feel it and now there’s nothing to hold him back.

Also, it makes Martin blush which is just an excellent look on him, especially when the flush deepens as Tim keeps holding Martin’s hand between his palms and the cup.

“I love you too but can I have my hand back?”, Martin asks softly, blue, blue eyes soft between his dark lashes and Tim can just about make out Jon chuckling in the background, “please?”

“You’re learning too fast”, Tim mock-sighs but lets go as soon as he’s pressed a quick kiss against the back of Martin’s fingers, then takes the mug properly and lifts it up to his face, “thank you”

“You know”, Jon says casually, as he hands Tim a plate and somehow manages to not spill the contends of his own all over himself and the sheets as he climbs onto the mattress beside Tim, “having the change to see with my own eyes how lovey-dovey we are with each other, it gets harder and harder to blame Melanie and Basira”

“Pretty sure, Basira’s busy being sweet with Daisy, so she doesn’t get to talk”, Tim points out as he touches his cheek with the very tips of his fingers where Jon has just kissed him with a soft smile.

“Kinda hard to imagine either of them being sweet in any way, or Melanie”

Martin leans back against the footboard of the bed as usual, gently knocking his foot first against Jon’s, then Tim’s as soon as both of them have put down their mugs on the nightstands.

“A bit”, Jon agrees, not pointing out, that it was nearly impossible not to be sweet when you were with Georgie when that piece of knowledge he shouldn’t have pipes up in the back of his head.

Sometimes he isn’t sure whether love was any better at respecting people’s boundaries but, he figures, he’d rather know about his friends being happy than tortured and scared and really, he probably doesn’t get to choose with this things anyway.

“Also”, Tim proclaims around a mouthful of toast but chews and swallows it down before he goes on when that earns him a glare from Jon, “You didn’t say you minded us being lovey-dovey and I refuse to take that as a criticism even if you do”

Jon’s heart swells just a bit when he tips back his head and looks up at Tim. He had almost managed to forget what being around Tim had been like in research after Jane Prentiss and things got really- after _he_ had spiralled out of control, and how the very same energy that had fuelled Tim’s aggression and anger then had been put to use being generally silly and affectionate and soft. He very much prefers this kind of use.

“Of course not”, he agrees softly between two bites, resting his head against Tim’s shoulder.

“So what was it, you were supposed to ask me?”, Tim asks once their plates are cleared away and he has somehow managed to talk Martin into laying down with his head in his lap. His long fingers slowly run through those soft, ginger curls while Jon has fitted himself against Martin’s side and drawls gentle nonsense-patterns into Martin’s chest and stomach with the tip of his finger, head pillowed on Martin’s shoulder.

“Jon was just trying to make a point”, Martin murmurs contentedly, tilting his head just so to get Tim’s fingers closer to his temple.

“Oh?”

“I was not _trying_ to make a point”, Jon corrects, fingers pressing just a tiny bit harder against their canvas, “I was making a rather good point which _someone_ chooses not to accept despite knowing full well I’m right”

“Can we not get into that right now?”, Martin asks without much hope because these days Jon rarely accepts ‘I’m not in the mood for this conversation right now’ when it comes to things like this. And lying is something that just doesn’t work in this relationship - which normally is a good thing, Martin reminds himself.

“Does your head hurt again?”, Jon asks softly and his hand flattens against the soft swell of Martin’s belly. Only his thumb continues to move in gentle semi-circles across the thin jersey.

“No”, Martin admits after a long moment, looking up at the ceiling instead of Tim’s sympathetic expression.

“Good”

He feels Jon brush his lips against his forehead along with the word. Just for a second, he entertains the thought that they’re going to drop the topic and just laze about the flat for another couple of hours but Jon is pulling back again and cupping Martin’s cheek in one cool hand, gently urging him to meet his eyes and Martin complies with a soft sigh.

“Not so sure about that”, he tells Jon, who huffs out something that might be a laugh, might be a scoff and lets his hand stay right where it is.

“Is this about you thinking, you didn’t do as much as Jon to get me and Daisy out?”, Tim asks, now too gazing down at Martin, fingers still running through his hair.

“Is there anyone in this relationship who isn’t somewhat omniscient?”, Martin asks without much fire.

“The walls are just thin, Mr I can tell when someone’s lying to me but won’t mention that before Tim makes an arse of himself”

“That would have happened anyway”, Jon points out and ignores the tongue Tim sticks out at him in return, “even without you criticising his coffee-making-skills”

“I was _trying_ not to. It’s not my fault I happen to be in love with two fucking lie-detectors”

“Who are very appreciative of that very fact”, Jon reminds him, as he reaches up towards Tim’s jaw and misses spectacularly until Tim catches his hand in his free one and brings it up to his face, “we’re getting off topic though”, Jon says softly, when his boyfriend’s lips touch his palm. His other boyfriend groans under his breath.

“O, come on”, Tim tells Martin from behind Jon’s stick-thin fingers, “as if it’s that bad to listen to us going into raptures over our personal hero”

“Shut up”

“Or what?”, Tim asks, raising an eyebrow as he lowers Jon’s hand back down to come to a rest on his thigh when he feels his arm starting to tremble and twitch from holding it up too long, “you’re gonna gag me if I don’t?”

“You’re a nuisance”

“In that case, I’m just getting started slobbering over you”

Jon is just quietly laughing behind his own hand at this point and both Martin’s and Tim’s eyes fix on him.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing, boss-“

“Don’t”, Jon cuts him off, all laughter gone from his face, “don’t call me that, please”

“Sorry”

Tim squeezes Jon’s hand in his in apology and Jon squeezes back.

“Anyway”, Tim turns back to Martin and taps the tip of his nose, “not done with you yet. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“Nothing. It’s really not as big a deal as you two are making it out to be”

“I think, it’s a pretty big deal if you keep selling yourself short”, Tim corrects him in a soft voice, “especially since you’re the reason both Jon and I am here right now and able to pester you”

“I keep telling him”, Jon chimes in, his chin digging into Martin’s soft upper arm, “not that he ever listens”

“It’s just that you’re both exaggerating- it’s not like I was ever actually doing anything, ‘specially compared to you two”

“Ignoring the fact that you literally yearned for us hard enough to pull me out of one and Jon out of _two_ domains and have been taking care of us ever since”, is what Tim starts with and even Martin can’t bring himself to interrupt him, “Do you have any idea what it’s like down there, in that godforsaken coffin?”

“I- no, no I have no idea”

“It’s fucking lonely for one thing. You can’t even remember how the people you loved looked like at some point – and you can’t move or breathe or do anything to put yourself out of your misery. That- that dirt just keeps pushing against you, crashing you like you’re nothing and logically, you know that there’s got to be other people but no matter how hard you try, you know there’s no chance you’ll ever see anyone again. I honestly thought I’d never get out of there, even when Jon found me- you realize that neither of us would have ever found our way back if it hadn’t been for you being our anchor? We would have never made it back without you waiting for us, just for the sheer hopelessness of that place on its. And even if you don’t believe that, which would be stupid but no matter that, even you can’t disagree with the fact that without you getting Jon back first you would have never even known where Daisy and I were or known how to get us back, so that’s on you too”

Tim is still petting Martin’s hair, touch as gentle as ever as he holds his gaze. Jon too has resumed smoothing his hand over Martin’s chest and the gentle touch has nothing to do with the fact that Martin feels his chest go tight.

“Face it, my love”, Jon now tells Martin, who has to flick his eyes from Jon’s to Tim’s as they talk, “you’re amazing and you saved both of us, not matter what you say”

“Also”, Tim adds, “those headaches you keep getting might be a sign that you didn’t play that small a part in this whole thing”

“How-“

“The box of aspirin in the bathroom has gotten a lot more empty over the last couple of days- and Jon doesn’t touch any painkillers unless you he’s in too much pain to move”

“I do not”

“If you say so. But you didn’t take those pills either”

“No, my head’s better than it had been in some time”

“Are you done yet?”, Martin asks, voice softer than ever as he reaches up with the hand he has not pinned between his side and Jon’s stomach and links his fingers with Tim’s.

“Depends”, Tim tells him, looking down at his hands, holding one of Martin’s, one of Jon’s, then back at Martin’s face as he squeezes their fingers in his, “you got the point?”

“Yeah”, Martin sighs, “I’m sorry for making a fuss, I’ll try not to in the future”

“Wanna try that again?”, Tim asks, before Jon can, “because we’re not letting you go until we’re sure, we’ve made our point – and neither of us has anywhere to be for at least another week”

“That’s very true”, Jon agrees as he slings his arm around Martin’s stomach and hugs him as tightly as he can with one arm.

“I should have known better than letting you two gang up on me”

“Also true, still not the point”

“ _Fine_ ”, Jon’s arms first rises high, then sinks back down when Martin takes a deep breath, then exhales, “I’ll stop moping about because I – quite wrongly apparently - feel like I’m not pulling my weight here with rescuing people out of fear domains and everything and I’ll try to stop overcompensating by coddling you”

“What do you say?”, Tim asks Jon, cocking his head to the side.

“I think, that’s about as far as we’re going to get right now”

“ _You’re welcome_ ”

“Speaking of coddling”, Jon says softly, “you’ll stay here with us today? I’ll do the dishes later”

“I- yeah, yeah okay”

“Perfect”, Tim beams above them, then adds, “any chance, I can get in there?”

It takes them a moment until every limb is sorted and no one is getting too badly squished, but before long Tim has settled down on Martin’s right side and buried his face in the side of his neck, the tips of his fingers brushing against Jon’s shoulder on their boyfriend’s stomach.

“Thank you”, he murmurs against Martin’s neck, warm breath brushing against his skin with every word, “don’t want you to think, we’re not appreciating everything you’ve done for us”

He’s already getting drowsy again, eyelids growing heavier as he snuggles into Martin’s side.

“I don’t”, Martin whispers somewhere above him, “sleep tight”

Tim merely hums when he feels Jon’s cool hand cup his cheek and stroke back his fringe.

“Sweet dreams”, Jon whispers, straining to brush his lips against Tim’s jaw just before he dozes off.

“I really could get used to this”, he tells Martin with a heavy sigh, settling back down against Martin’s shoulder and tipping back his head until he can meet Martin’s eyes.

“Me too. If you scratch the chewing me out part”

“We didn’t meant to get-“

“I was joking, Jon. It’s fine, you’re right that I… do that, try and overcompensate when I- basically always I’m afraid”

“Lucky for neither Tim nor I have any problems in that regard whatsoever”

“Don’t make me laugh when he’s just fallen asleep”

“Just wanted to make sure, you know you’re in good company”, Jon whispers, pressing a quick kiss just above Martin’s heart.

“Oh, I know about that, don’t worry”

“Good”, Jon’s voice too has become softer, but Martin figures they’ve got some time left before Jon dozes off as well.

“Yeah”, Martin breathes out, mouth going dry when Jon looks up and meets his gaze straight on, “good”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluff because both you as well as Martin Blackwood deserve it.
> 
> Thank you so very much for reading, I have actually started on a couple of bonus chapters after this here is done if anyone would be interested?
> 
> And, luckily, after today's episode it doesn't look like I'll have to change much about the final chapters here and we get to have the dramatic showdown I've planned so... look forward for that. 
> 
> Even more fluff is going to go up on Sunday.
> 
> Lots of love <3


	16. XVI.

Martin can barely remember the last birthday he had celebrated with his family. Whenever he tries to think about it, there’s just a blurred idea of bright lights and overly sweet frosting sticking his lips together. He can’t remember his parents’ faces either, whether they had been beaming down at him in his highchair and ruffled his hair when his baby-fists had torn open the wrapping paper but he imagines they must have done – back then they had still been happy, had still loved each other and, he has to believe, him as well.

He can’t remember celebrating any birthdays with his mother alone, not even Christmas and there had been no more presents, neither for him nor his mother after he had foolishly spent his meagre savings on cake and a bouquet of her favourite flowers one year and that day had ended with both flowers and cake being thrown into the nearest wastepaper basket and him crying his eyes out whilst pressing his face into his pillows to smother his sobs.

He does however remember his first birthday after he had started working at the archives, only a couple of weeks after he had met Tim, Sasha and Jon. It had been a Saturday but the day before had been rainy and cold and he had arrived at work already drenched, dripping all over the floor as he had stuffed the remainders of his umbrella into the bin after it had finally broken and turned inside out in the wind on his way. He had just decided that he would not even think about the fact that tomorrow would be his twenty-ninth birthday, glasses fogging up as soon as he had entered the archives when Tim had called his name, thrown his arm around his shoulder and kissed his cheek as he’d told Martin happy-almost-birthday.

He and Sasha had taken him out for drinks that evening and had even managed to drag Jon along and keep him there until it had legally been Martin’s birthday. At some point Tim had decided that he could not possibly let his best friend (after Sasha) spend his twenty-ninth all alone and maybe with a hangover and they had ended up spending the entire weekend at Tim’s place where he had presented Martin with the new notebook he and Sasha had picked out for him and the card, he and the others had signed. Martin may or may not had burst into tears in the middle of Tim’s living room and Tim had pulled him close and not said a word until he had calmed down and then some. It had been about the best birthday Martin had ever had. He even got to pick out presents for Tim, Sasha and Jon for their birthdays and finally Christmas - and not even Jon’s presents that first year had ended up in the bin.

Tim’s birthday rolls around a week after he, Jon and Daisy had returned from the buried and Martin doesn’t forget until the day before, it’s more that every time he thinks about making a list of what to do and what to get until then, something comes up and, in the end, he writes his shopping list on the kitchen counter while Jon does the laundry, and Tim naps. It feels wonderfully domestic, especially when Jon joins him in the kitchen and gets onto his tiptoes behind him in order to at least try to peek at the list over Martin’s shoulder, before he, only slightly disgruntled, gives up and rather leans against the counter next to him and reads over his boyfriend’s arm.

“We also need baking soda and brown sugar if you want me to make him the cake from last year”, he tells Martin, “and I wouldn’t get the candles”

“I didn’t plan to get 31”, Martin points out, but a memory flickers in the back of his head and he scratches the candles, even before Jon reminds him, that last year, Tim had announced he would stop counting years now that he was in his thirties.

“I think obscene amounts of icing and chocolate will make up for it”

“Yeah, I think they will”, Martin allows, then turns to face Jon, “I wanted to get him a book on cave-diving but-“

“No, I understand, better not do that”, Jon agrees with a slight shiver at the mere thought, “there’s a game he was really interested in but I don’t think, he got it while everything at the institute went to shit, maybe we could get him that”

“Do you happen to know the exact title?”

“I wasn’t sure whether knowing that about him would cross a line”

“I think, knowing about birthday presents is alright- unless you don’t feel like it of course, I’m sure we can get him to tell us later or find out ourselves”

“I mean, how many games with robot-dinosaurs can there be?”, Jon asks, and tips back his head when Martin starts laughing beside him, “what?”

“No, it’s just, you don’t have to bother knowing; I know which one and I’ll get it and keep the receipt so we can split and, worst case, return it”, Martin tells him, then announces, “problem solved”

“Okay”, he says softly, “thank you, Martin”

When Martin goes to the shops later that day, he gets Tim’s present first and keeps his eyes open for an additional little something, growing more and more frustrated because nothing feels right after everything they went through and neither he nor Jon have the budget to buy Tim a private tropical island like he deserves after everything. It’s only at the end of his shopping trip, when he has just about given up and decided to get their grocery’s before the day wore on too long after all, when inspiration strikes while Martin picks out three differently coloured toothbrushes.

Back when he, Tim and Sasha still regularly spent the weekend together and sometimes even made little trips, he and Tim had usually finished the day by going to the shops together and the little store where Tim usually got his hair dye is still easy enough to find.

\---

Tim is awake by the time Martin returns and he and Jon have moved to the living room and started playing checkers. Jon takes the shopping bags as usual and heaves them towards the kitchen and Martin has barely finished kicking off his boots when he has to bat Tim’s hands away from the small plastic bag he had kept wedged beneath his arm.

“You let Jon help you”, Tim points out, still making grabby hands while Martin shrugs off his coat, “and that’s light. Even you can’t tell me, that I-“

“Maybe”, Martin cuts him off and just can’t help himself but pull Tim into his arms and kiss the bottom lip he is sticking out, “that bag’s private”

“Pf”, Tim scoffs, “but fine, keep your naughty little secrets”

“Who’s being naughty?”, Jon asks from the kitchen and he sounds so proud of his little joke that Martin allows himself to laugh;

“Tim - awfully naughty”

“That’s too bad”, Jon calls back as he puts the kettle on, “only nice people get cake and presents for their birthday”

“I think, you’re mixing up Christmas and birthdays”, Tim points out but his expression has brightened up decidedly, “and you didn’t have to get me anything”

“Yeah, no”, Martin tells him as they cross over to the kitchen door, “can I help you with anything?”

“I just need to know where you keep your kitchen scales and mixer”

“Left drawer, towards the back”

“Then I got everything covered- except the tea if you’d be so kind”

“You can take over for Jon, he was losing anyway”

“I was _not_ ”, Jon insists while he lets Martin squeeze past him, “I was _pursuing a strategy_ ”

“He was losing”, Tim tells Martin when he hands him a cup and pulls him back towards the couch, “badly”, he adds loudly enough for Jon to still catch it from the kitchen.

Jon momentarily considers adding a handful of chili powder to the flour and sugar already mixing together in the bowl but decides against it when he notices the plastic bag Martin had inconspicuously placed on the counter before he’d left with his and Tim’s tea and a smile spreads over his lips.

\---

They sleep in the next day, and have cake and fancy tea for breakfast.

“You really didn’t have to get me anything”, Tim softly tells his boyfriends, his violently purple party hat nodding along when they hand him two wrapped parcels and watch him expectantly, “but thank you”

“Is that the one you wanted?”, Martin can’t help himself but ask when Tim opens the slim, rectangle-shaped gift first, “we can exchange it-“

“It’s perfect, thank you, Martin”, Tim cuts him off and kisses first Martin, then Jon, “like the cake. You two are being so good to me”

“Next year, we’ll take you out for drinks again”, Jon promises, barely feeling like he’s building castles in the air at all, “when all persons present are in better condition”

“I’ll take you up on that, boss”, Tim shoots him a grin and notices the slipup a moment later, when Jon’s face falls and his shoulders rise up on either side of his head, “shit, I’m sorry, Jon”

“Please don’t do that”, Jon tells him, voice quiet but firm, shoulders still too tense, “you can literally call me anything else, but not that”

And it’s a testament to how awkward both of them get when this happens, that it takes Tim a moment to register what Jon has told him, and Jon a second longer before he lifts up his hands and tries to correct himself when he notices the glint in Tim’s eyes. Martin on his part just tries not to laugh when Tim opens his mouth and Jon closes his eyes with a longsuffering sigh before Tim has even finished his sentence.

“You got it, _baby_ ”

“I should really think the things I want to say through before actually saying them out loud”, Jon sighs but doesn’t protest, “open your other present, Timothy”

“O my god, Martin”, Tim turns to Martin a moment later and hugs him as tightly as he can, “that’s exactly what I need right now – you even got me the exact shade I wanted”

“Well, I remember the whole trial and error it took us to find that one”

“Can we do that today?”, Tim asks, fingers tight around the box, “we don’t have to-“

“Of course, right now if you want”

“Do you need help?”, Jon asks when Tim claps his hands.

“You’ve done that before?”, Tim asks. He’s never seen Jon or even old photos of him with died hair.

“I used to for Georgie and some of our friends”, Jon tells him as he takes the box, opens it and peers inside, “I was the only one who managed not to paint the entire bathroom along with it”

“Oh, then you can take over this time too”, Martin says at once, “there’s still flecks of purple in the tiles on Tim’s bathroom floor – and of red and blue”

“I liked red best on you”, Jon muses, as he unfolds the instructions, “it suits you better than the others”

“I know”, Tim says softly. He doesn’t point out that he stopped going for red when things had gotten sour between them and even the thought of pleasing Jon in any way had burnt like acid on his tongue; he’s pretty sure Jon knows.

“Just your fringe and some highlights?”

Jon looks up from the crinkled piece of paper for a moment, finger poised over the last sentence he’d read.

“I think, I want all of it red”

During the last weeks before the unknowing, no one at the archives had really taken the time to look after their appearance, haircuts and -dye notwithstanding. Tim had almost enjoyed showing up at the institute in sweatpants and rumpled shirts he had not changed in four days, his once blue highlights washing out into an unpleasant greenish brown that curled over his brows in greasy, unkempt strands and by the time he had followed Daisy into the coffin, almost his entire head of hair had returned to its normal boring brown.

The first time he had seen his reflection after Jon and Martin had gotten him out, it had not been the sight of his ribs pressing out through his skin, or the grey-white of his skin that had drawn his eye, but the brown that now looked like the dirt beneath the coffin and reminded him of just how little control he’d had and how close to becoming one with the buried he had been. He had not said anything of course, not when Martin and Jon were already watching him with both heart eyes as well plain worry. Instead, he’s been trying his best to get better, to eat and sleep as much as his body felt it needed, to do the little exercises to get his legs and arms used to properly moving again. Three months is a long time but he shudders to think about what he would feel and look like if Jon had had his vision or whatever it had been any later. How much more of him would have vanished within the buried.

“Alright, we have more than enough dye for that”, Jon tells him with a smile and, as always, Tim’s heartbeat speeds up just a bit, “but we’ll do the actual dyeing in the bathroom, I’m not taking responsibility for M- our wooden floors”

“Fine by me”

“I’ll put these away in the meantime”, Martin tells them whilst already stacking their plates together, “and I’ll wait until your whole makeover’s done before I look”

Almost an hour later, Tim calls out Martin’s name from the bathroom and asks whether he’s ready. And Martin thinks, he is, when he calls back, but at the sight of Tim coming to a halt in front of him, hair shinning bright, wine red beneath the ceiling lights as he plops himself down in Martin’s lap and brings their lips together, Martin’s breath still catches in his throat and doesn’t return to normal until Tim pulls back from him several minutes later, eyes bright, and smile still brighter.

“So what do you think?”, he asks when Jon joins them on the couch and wraps himself around Tim’s back, nuzzling his face in the smooth, crimson strands, “Jon did an alright job? The bathroom doesn’t look like a slaughterhouse anymore either”

“Definitely, you look amazing”

“Thanks”, Tim beams, turning his head and pressing a quick kiss against Jon’s temple, “I feel pretty good too”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading and your lovely comments (which I appreciate more than I can put into words)
> 
> This is, for now, the last chapter of pure toothrotting fluff, from next week on the actual plot is going to pick up pace, albeit slowly at first.
> 
> Once again: Chapter XIX is going to end on a BIGcliffhanger, which will be partly resolved in XX and fully in XXI.
> 
> Also, do you think Martin's family-related trauma needs to be revisited at some point? I think I do but first lets get this thing here finished.
> 
> Next update will be on Thursday as always, until then <3

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, an alternatative version of the season 3 finale/ the beginning of season 4. It's probably going to be as toothrottingly sweet and fluffy as the rest of my writing and I really hope you'll enjoy it.
> 
> There should be one update per week.


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